


Human Like You

by cactustipper



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fire Emblem: Awakening Spoilers, Flashbacks, Gay Chrobin - Freeform, M/M, Male My Unit | Reflet | Robin, Slow Burn, Villains to Heroes, Xenophobia, original timeline, other characters not mentioned in tags, tags & warnings may change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:41:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28618971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cactustipper/pseuds/cactustipper
Summary: The Fell Dragon Grima has been reborn one thousand years after being sealed by Ylisse’s first Exalt to a Plegian sorcerer named Validar. However, if Grima wishes to accomplish what he attempted one thousand years ago, he must acquire Ylisse’s sacred treasure, the Fire Emblem. To do that, he sets out to gain the trust of the Ylissean prince.The original timeline of Fire Emblem Awakening reimagined. Grima is Robin, Robin is Grima, and there’s no adult Lucina to help change fate.
Relationships: Chrom/Gimurei | Grima, Chrom/My Unit | Reflet | Robin
Comments: 37
Kudos: 62





	1. Meeting Amongst the Flames

**Author's Note:**

> quick warning - recaps and summaries will be at the beginning of each chapter, with recaps detailing the chapter beforehand. these could contain spoilers for the chapters before them, so if you’re on ch 1 for example, don’t read the recap on ch 2 (and so on)
> 
> anyway, i really, REALLY like imagining robin being grima the whole time, and not them being two totally separate entities. i also like thinking about the grimleal and what grima’s life was like before being sealed, so there will be eventual original characters to help portray that.
> 
> enjoy.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grima, tired of Validar's incompetence, sets out on a journey to Ylisse to eventually infiltrate the castle and steal its royal artifact, the Fire Emblem. Along the way, he meets the prince of Ylisse amidst trouble in a small town.

_ Dark magic, not to be confused with black magic as a class, finds its roots in alchemy, a long lost art form that predates even Grima’s Flight. It is too old to properly estimate when it first came about, but it is estimated it was near when dragons first enlightened man, thousands of years ago. _

_ Alchemy, like many curses and hexes, required intimate knowledge and skill of the world’s natural and inherit magical properties. With this knowledge, alchemists were able to create different elements from other preexisting elements, through a process called transmutation. _

_ Magic in general is said to have been granted to man by dragons, but alchemy was the first and remains the only magic that was distinctly human. Our ancestors’ knowledge of alchemy was lost, likely due to how powerful it was frightening rulers into banning its use. Many were and still are afraid of it, criticizing the dark arts as unnatural, hypocritically ignoring the unnatural nature of magic being bestowed upon man in the first place. Some even go so far as to blame alchemy as the source of evil in the world, both mans’ and dragons’. _

Knocking sounded outside of the study, and Grima set the book down on his desk with a scoff. Humans were all too ready to blame anything that somehow related to Grima, whether they were aware of it or not, as evil. If Naga weren’t a dragon herself, dragons would likely be considered evil, too.

Abandoning those thoughts for another time (and there would be another time, because within Grima’s thousands of years of life, those thoughts never eased), he stood up from his seat at his desk and went to open the door. Grima’s human vessel’s biological father, Validar, was there. He was a tall, spindly man, who quite frankly looked like death. His once tan skin now lacked much color at all, clinging tightly to his skeleton in a way that was anything but natural. His eyes were sunken into his face, and his jet black hair was wiry and greasy. The few commonalities Grima shared with Validar appearance-wise were that Grima had disheveled, white hair, like the streak that sat amongst Validar’s facial hair, and that both Validar’s and Grima’s eyes were crimson. Grima also had brown skin, the shade Validar’s had been as a young man, predating his body’s corruption due to overuse of magic.

Grima was lean, but not thin to the extent of his vessel’s father. He was shorter than Validar, standing at five feet and nine inches, while the sorcerer was a few inches beyond six feet tall. They each wore black with motifs of purple lines and eyes, those eyes representing the six Grima held in his dragon form. However, Validar opted for typical mage’s clothing, while Grima generally went for something more subdued—a coat covering an off-white tank top and matching pants.

Upon seeing Grima, Validar bowed deeply.

“Greetings, Master Grima,” he said, entering the study and shutting the door behind him. His voice was raspy and unsettling, fitting his overall demeanor. “Pardon my interruption my lord, but I’ve received news of the result of Gangrel’s latest incitation of war.”

“And?” Grima asked impatiently. The sorcerer’s time wasted on formalities around him always proved annoying.

“Unfortunate, I’m afraid. The Ylisseans did appear, but that blasted Prince Chrom’s militia took care of things before our forces had time to bait him.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Grima muttered. “For a marionettist, you’re awful at controlling your puppet. He’s too daft to make any progress.”

Validar was the one who had suggested manipulating Gangrel into power after the execution of the Theocracy of Plegia’s last ruler during the Ylissean Crusade fifteen years ago. Grima had begrudgingly agreed (a mistake), Validar convincing him that the mad fool would be easy to manipulate. Even Aversa, the poor girl that the sorcerer had forced into being his daughter, was Gangrel’s tactician and meant to steer the king in Validar’s desired direction, but couldn’t do anything about Gangrel’s seemingly random decisions.

“My apologies for his failures, my lord, but with a little more time, I’m sure—”

“No,” Grima snapped, cutting Validar off. “I’ve spent too many valuable years waiting for your idiotic tyrant to do his damn job. This body has under a century left before it expires, and I _intend_ to have my true form back within its lifetime. At the rate things have been going, Walhart will have the Fire Emblem long before we do.” Walhart was a man from Valm, a country named the same as its home continent. Valm was across the sea, and Walhart was currently working to conquer the continent and eventually the entire world. Because he was after the gemstones needed to activate the Fire Emblem, Grima was going to wait for him to collect them, essentially doing his work for him, before those too would be stolen by the Grimleal.

Validar hesitated. Then he eventually nodded. “Of course, my lord. Did you have something in mind?”

“Yes... I’ll.... I'll infiltrate the Ylissean militia and take the Fire Emblem myself.” Yes, this would also give him the chance to steal Falchion as well; it was a blade that was capable of slaying dragons when properly awakened.

One of the sorcerer’s eye brows lifted. “Personally? Are you quite certain, Master Grima? Perhaps instead we could hire one of our spies, or even _I_ could attempt the infiltration—”

“Did you not just hear me say I’m tired of your failures?” Grima said irritably, being dragged from his thoughts. “I’m not allowing one of your little _minions_ to ruin our chance of us stealing the Fire Emblem, let alone getting anywhere _near_ it... And loathe as I am to admit it, you’re much more useful here in Plegia.”

“...As you wish, my lord.” Validar bowed his head before lifting it again. “How will you go about infiltrating the army?”

How, indeed.

“I’ll figure something out,” Grima waved his hand dismissively. “Until then, make sure your dog doesn’t get us all killed.”

“Yes my lord.” Thankfully, Validar took the hint and left the dragon’s study.

* * *

It took longer than Grima expected to convince Tharja to remain in Plegia, but she eventually relented with the promise that he would return.

While Grima held no love for most humans, or most dragons for that matter, he didn’t totally despise Tharja. Which was saying something. She held him in high regard, not due to him being a god, but because she genuinely saw something in him and wanted to stick around. What she saw, Grima didn’t particularly care, but she was useful, and he respected that she wasn’t one to pull punches. She was also well-versed in dark magic and well-read in general, which Grima appreciated.

Originally, Tharja was intended to be apart of Grima’s disguise as a normal Plegian human. Grima’s name was Daraen, and Tharja was Daraen’s betrothed. She also served as retainer and guard, but that was mostly unnecessary. Validar had appointed her, selecting her from a devout Grimleal family known for their magical prowess. At the time, Grima didn’t care much about an intricate disguise, but he was glad to have her around now. And he supposed if he ended up needing to keep a strong bloodline going after his inevitable battle with Naga, well, there were worse choices.

Grima traveled alone into the country of the Halidom of Ylisse, Plegia’s easterly neighbor, unwilling to risk being seen with an escort. While a more difficult journey on his own, the suspicion surrounding him would spike should he be caught with a group of armored Plegians.

With him, all Grima carried was a letter proving his Plegian citizenship, a map, some water, and a thunder tome and a bronze sword for protection. Anything more powerful would also be odd, but these two weapons alone were reasonable. Oh, and his Grima’s Truth tome for emergencies. As for food, hunting and gathering were not difficult in Ylisse’s fertile lands.

Within a few days after leaving the border, Grima reached Southtown, located in southern Ylisse. He looked around the sleepy little town, then chose a small inn to loiter around.

He walked inside, giving a small nod in greeting to the little old woman tending the counter. She smiled at him. At least she didn’t openly hate Plegians like most Ylisseans.

“Hello, young man. How can I help you today?”

Grima put on his fakest, most pleasant tone. “Hello, ma’am. Do you serve breakfast here?”

“The works, all homemade,” the woman confirmed. “Why don’t you choose a place to sit and I can get you started with something to drink. How does coffee sound?”

“Any chance you have tea?” He didn’t want caffeine putting him on edge. He was already on enough of a guard in this foreign territory.

“Is sage alright?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll get that started for you.”

“Thank you.”

The old woman disappeared into what was presumably the inn’s kitchen, and Grima chose a small table with two seats next to a window, giving him the view of an alleyway. It wasn’t ideal for keeping watch over the town, but it was better than nothing.

Validar’s spies had been tracking Prince Chrom’s militia’s patrol routes, and the lord was supposed to be near Southtown today. Plegian bandits were scheduled to raid the town around noon, and Grima would help save the town to gain Chrom’s favor. The Ylissean royal family, after all, was said to be incredibly naive.

The innkeeper soon returned to the counter. “It’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

He gave a glance of acknowledgment, continuing to watch the outside.

“Forgive me for asking, but what is a... well, you know. This doesn’t seem like a likely place for someone like you.”

Grima didn’t really care to converse, but he supposed it was good practice if he was to blend in better later on. “The desert’s a dangerous place if you don’t have protection. I figured I’d be safer here.”

“And your folks?”

“Haven’t been around for a long time.” He supposed it was technically true. “I’m here by myself.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that. Let me get you that cup of tea—on the house.”

_I’m sure you are,_ Grima thought, rolling his eyes. Humans couldn’t care for anyone but themselves. Aloud, he pretended to be moved. “Thank you.”

As the innkeeper went into the kitchen, Grima looked outside again. Just as he did, a human ran past, soon followed by a cackling bandit with his axe raised. He shot to his feet in alarm—it was hardly 10:30, what were those idiots _doing?_

“Leave it to Validar to fuck me over!” Grima cussed under his breath. He stomped out of the inn, dimly hearing the old woman calling from behind him. He ignored her, pulling his tome and his sword from his belt as he walked briskly through the town. Screams were sprouting up around him as more smoke filled the air, humans running past him in sleep clothes. If he saw one of those damn bandits, they were dead where they stood.

Lady Luck showed her face as Grima left an alley to come upon abandoned shop stalls, many of which were on fire. He quickly spotted a swordsman, a mounted great knight, and a girl with a staff on the outskirts of the market. The swordsman’s bare shoulder held a tear drop marking over a spiked U-shape—Naga’s Brand. This man was Prince Chrom.

Chrom and the great knight jumped into battle immediately with the nearest bandits, while the cleric girl stood back, healing when needed. Their formation wasn’t awful, but the healer was definitely susceptible to attack from behind, and if she was killed, there was no way Chrom would last long afterwards with how brazenly he was fighting. And they definitely weren’t paying attention to the mage approaching them—

“ _Duck!_ ” Grima shouted above the crackle of flames and the clang of weapons. All three of the Ylisseans ducked, a bolt of thunder magic just missing a fatal headshot on Chrom. Perhaps he could’ve allowed the prince to be slain, but it wouldn’t have done much for him in the long run if the Ylissean castle (which held the Fire Emblem) subsequently went under lockdown.

Grima shot his own thunder magic at the enemy mage, taking him out in one strike. He sheathed his sword back onto his belt, then jogged over to the small group of Ylisseans, just as the cleric finished up her latest round of healing.

As Grima approached, the great knight moved to place himself in front of both Chrom and the cleric.

“Stay back, Plegian!” the great knight boomed, pointing his lance at the dragon. The great knight was a large, imposing figure, and his mount only helped the sentiment. His skin was pale like most Ylisseans, and windswept brown bangs covered his forehead. His armor was mostly teal and visibly well-taken care of. He couldn’t have been much older than Chrom. “Lest you wish to taste my steel!”

_I just saved your prince’s life, worm,_ Grima thought crossly, taking a cautious step back.

“Frederick, I think he’s the one who just saved my life,” Chrom said from behind him.

“I’m here to help,” Grima added on quickly, resisting the urge to grin smugly at the great knight. He wasn’t particularly trying to be impaled.

Frederick narrowed his eyes distrustfully, not lowering his weapon. “How do we know this isn’t an attempt to get close enough to off the Ylissean prince and princess?”

“I could’ve easily allowed Prince Chrom to lose his head,” he said drily, narrowing his eyes in return. _I also could’ve easily killed you and the girl within the following heartbeat._

“ _Frederick!_ ” Chrom hissed, stepping between the lance’s tip and Grima. The prince turned to the dragon. Grima got a good look at the young man (the same age as his vessel, actually) for the first time, and couldn’t help admitting that the prince was rather handsome. Navy hair framed his face, matching both his eyes and his outfit. He too was pale and was also fairly buff, if his one bare arm was anything to judge by. “You said you’re here to help?”

Grima nodded. At least he had some sense. “Have your knight protect—the princess was it? Princess Lissa?—from ambushes.” Lissa was younger than Chrom, just enough to still be called a girl. Her eyes were wide like a doe’s, and her blonde hair was tied up in high twintails. She wore a yellow dress, further pushing the innocent look. Her skin was the same shade as her brother’s. “Prince Chrom, you and I will move ahead and take out the bandits while Princess Lissa heals us.”

Chrom blinked at him dumbly for a moment, and Grima cursed at himself for forgetting stupid formalities. Chrom had probably never been ordered around a day in his life. Frederick opened his mouth to object, but the prince had snapped out of his stupor, and his tone left no room for argument. “Frederick, you heard—uh?”

Grima paused. While Daraen was his vessel’s legal name, he frankly couldn’t stand anything having to do with Validar. “Robin,” he supplied. It had been the name his vessel’s biological mother wanted to give him. Validar had hated it.

“Chrom, but you already knew that,” he flashed a grin, and a charming playfulness danced in his eyes. Grima almost flinched; he looked so much like a face he used to know. A face that made him sad. “Let’s move!”

He didn’t dwell on it, instead following the prince’s lead through the market. A Plegian bandit charged at them, and Chrom shot ahead of Grima, blocking the brigand’s axe with his sword and shoving him back. Grima cast thunder, arcing its blast safely around the prince and striking the bandit in the chest. It stunned him long enough for Chrom to charge forward and stab him, successfully ending his life.

“Nice aim. You’re pretty good support,” the Ylissean said over his shoulder.

Grima stared at Chrom’s sword, Falchion, for a moment. It had sealed him into darkness one thousand years ago. Seeing the blade now and sensing the power that emanated from it, even though weakened, made his skin crawl. He’d just have to get used to it. “And you _really_ like taking the vanguard.”

Chrom laughed. “You learn quick. Ready to move on?”

“Lead the way.” _Just keep that sword away from me._

The two continued on their path, cutting and blazing through bandits while Lissa healed them from behind. They finally reached the bandits’ leader—Garrick, if Grima recalled correctly.

“It’s gonna take more than some fancy tricks to take me down!” Garrick growled, raising his axe.

“You promise?” Grima asked a little too innocently, before drawing his bronze sword and tucking his tome away.

Surprise raised Chrom's eyebrows. “Wait, you know swordplay too?” 

Grima didn’t answer, instead engaging the brigand with his blade. Despite axes being inherently weak to swords, he was holding his own as Grima and Chrom traded off on dealing flurries of jabs and swipes. Really, Grima could’ve easily done Garrick in by now, but the thick of battle was when he felt most alive—and most able to forget the torture that was the past. If senseless violence was unavoidable for humans, why not at least have a little fun with it? He wouldn’t ever admit it, but even though it was his first time meeting the Ylissean prince, fighting alongside Chrom made Grima sentimental for a time when things felt more... _bearable_. Grima had been ignorant back then, but things had been bearable.

All too soon, Chrom found an opening and struck a fatal blow through Garrick’s stomach, the loud groan and squelching of blood delightfully gruesome to Grima’s ears. The prince unsheathed his sword from the Plegian man, allowing the bandit leader to collapse forward and onto the ground. Alright, maybe seeing _Falchion_ slay someone wasn’t the most pleasant thing.

Lissa hurried forward as the two men turned to face her and Frederick. “Are you alright?” she asked, going to Chrom first. “Show me your arms! Does anything hurt?”

“I’m fine mother,” Chrom sighed, yet not sounding truly annoyed. Healing magic glowed against his skin, small scrapes vanishing from sight. “You and Frederick are unharmed?”

“Indeed,” Frederick replied, dismounting his horse. “Now, I’d like to hear more about these bandits from Sir Robin and how he arrived at such convenient timing.”

“I don’t know them, if that’s what you’re implying, Sir Frederick,” Grima said pointedly. “Do you assume all Plegians know each other?”

“It wouldn’t be farfetched to wonder if they could have been Grimleal,” the great knight continued casually, “and your coat clearly denotes your faith.”

“Frederick, that’s _enough_ ,” Chrom said, who had just satisfied Lissa's health standards. “Robin here fought to save Ylissean lives. _My_ life, even. I wouldn’t stand here now were it not for him.”

“Milord, is it really so wrong to wonder what a Plegian is doing in Ylisse during times like these?”

“You can at least be polite about it,” Lissa chimed in. She turned to Grima. “...But I admit, I’m curious as well, if you don’t mind Robin.”

“Lissa, that’s not—” Chrom began.

“I don’t mind at all, Princess Lissa,” Grima said. Chrom relaxed somewhat. “For the past two weeks, I’ve been traveling from my home in Plegia in attempt to find safety in Ylisse. Brigand attacks, like the one we saw here today, aren’t uncommon where I’m from, and our king simply allows us to suffer.” It was true that Gangrel was utterly useless to the people of Plegia and not just to Grima—he didn’t protect anyone, and was only maniacally obsessed with Ylisse. “I hoped to find refuge here.”

“For two weeks you’ve traveled _all_ alone,” Frederick echoed disbelievingly. “Have you no family? Or perhaps not even a few friends?”

“I’m an only child and my parents are long dead,” Grima said, a touch of coldness in his voice for good effect. “Any allies I may have had were too scared to leave, fearing the king’s punishment of their own families and friends. I do not blame them, but I couldn’t stay a moment longer.” The last part was true—Validar and his dumb little henchmen disgusted him. It was clear to Grima that Validar only wanted power, not caring what had to be done to get there. The cult he had made out of Grimleal extremists behaved similarly. If they _really_ cared about Grima, and not only the power they might receive upon his true form being restored, they would understand he wasn’t simply a god of annihilation and destruction. There was a method to his madness, something true Grimleal at least _somewhat_ understood.

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” Chrom said before Frederick could continue his interrogation, placing a hand on the dragon’s shoulder. Grima almost jerked away, but remained put. “Do you have anywhere to stay? Any plans?"

“No, but I’ll figure something out.”

Frederick looked like he knew what was coming with how he stared at the prince in alarm, but Chrom either missed it or ignored it entirely.

“Perhaps I could provide you with a place to stay,” he offered. “You see, I’m the captain of a small militia known as the Shepherds. It isn’t an official faction of Ylissean military forces, seeing as we hardly have any, but you’d still be paid, fed, and housed.”

“Yeah, Robin!” Lissa said excitedly, once again halting any protest from their knight. “You’re obviously really good at battle, and your thinking on your feet is top notch! We’d love to have you!”

Grima almost cackled, but instead chose to rub it in Frederick’s face. “Oh, I don’t know...”

“ _I_ don’t know either,” Frederick finally said, comfortable interrupting only Grima. “Milord, is this really a good idea? You hardly know this man, yet you’re inviting him to sleep among your friends, and merely a short walk away from your family?”

“He’s more than proved himself today,” Chrom replied, sounding very, very sure. It was downright ironic how his great knight’s well-founded skepticism was only making the prince’s stance more firm. It made Grima want to crack up with laughter. “He’s saved me and the lives of our people. My heart says that’s enough.”

“And your mind, milord? Will you not heed its counsel as well?”

Why Chrom didn’t totally shut his great knight down through his authority, Grima didn’t know, but the prince continued his attempt to convince Frederick. “The Shepherds could use someone with Robin’s talents. Would you really have us lose such a capable fighter?”

“I _have_ thoroughly studied the art of tactics,” Grima added.

“ _And_ he’s studied tactics. We do need a tactician.”

“He worships the _Fell Dragon_ ,” the great knight said, as if it was all that was necessary.

‘The Fell Dragon’ _has a name_ , Grima thought, rolling his eyes.

“We worship Naga, which I imagine he doesn’t love either.”

Frederick simply sighed, knowing he couldn’t win, which Chrom took as acceptance.

“So Robin,” the prince turned to Grima. “Keep in mind, we will likely be fighting more Plegians—are you alright with that?”

The dragon broke out into a smile, genuinely this time.  “I’d be honored, Prince Chrom.”

“Please, you can drop the title. Just Chrom’s fine.”

Oh, Grima _liked_ that. And he bet he could use it to get on Frederick’s nerves too.

“I’d be honored, Chrom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor frederick. the man is being completely tortured and chrom just lets it happen


	2. Well-Earned Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Recap**  
>  Grima, tired of Validar’s failure to incite war between Plegia and Ylisse, heads to the latter country to steal the Fire Emblem, which is required to restore his true form. To gain Chrom’s trust, Grima defeats Plegian bandits apart of a purposely orchestrated attack. Frederick has his suspicions, but Chrom still recruits Grima as the Shepherds’ new tactician.
> 
>  **Summary**  
>  Chrom, Lissa, Frederick, and Grima return to Ylisse’s capital, Ylisstol, to discuss the threat of Plegian bandits with Exalt Emmeryn. Afterwards, Grima meets the rest of the Shepherds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a reminder that since this takes place in the original timeline, no risen exist yet, assuming that they all were created once grima was revived in the future. this is based on the fact that when we first see “marth” fall from the sky, the risen from the future had followed her into the past and fell from the portal as well.

Chrom and Frederick declined to stay at Southtown for a feast, much to Lissa’s disappointment. Times in Ylisse were tough, and the prince didn’t want to take food from people who were already struggling. Robin seemed pretty neutral about it overall. Chrom was just glad to only have one complainer on their trip back to Ylisstol.

Robin further proved his usefulness when the group camped in the woods that night. His new tactician managed to catch a bear by himself. The meal stuffed him and Chrom easily. Lissa ate some of it, but Frederick didn’t seem to be hungry at all. The prince wouldn’t have been surprised if his great knight woke up early the next morning to find something distinctly non-bear, despite their bear jerky leftovers.

Not long after everyone settled in for the night, Chrom found himself unable to sleep. And it wasn’t just the lack of a bed or the other comforts he had back at the castle. Really, his mind couldn’t stop racing about the day. It hadn’t been the first time Plegian bandits had raided a random town in Ylisse for no good reason. Hardly any diplomacy was able to occur between Ylisse and Plegia due to how strained their relations were, but Chrom was sure that the Plegian king, King Gangrel, would outright deny any accusations regardless. There wasn’t any way for Ylisse to prove his involvement with the bandit attacks without spying, and that was the last thing the country needed to be caught doing.

He sat up, unwilling to think about it longer. He needed to move around or something to clear his head.

Chrom stood up and stretched, careful not to make any noise in the process, keeping his sleeping companions in mind. He scanned the forest around him, then picked a random direction to walk in. He wouldn’t go very far, only enough to get some energy out. And he’d bring Falchion, just in case.

It took a few minutes before the prince sensed he was being followed. He settled his hand casually on the hilt of his sword and swung around, but relaxed upon seeing it was only Robin. 

“You’re awfully quiet. You could have spoken up sooner, you know.”

“Did you think I caught that bear by being loud?” his tactician smiled dimly. “What are you doing wandering?”

“Clearing my head. What are you doing stalking me?”

“Frederick would have my head if something happened to you on my first night as a Shepherd.”

Chrom chuckled. “Fair point. Walk with me?”

Robin looked wary at first, but eventually moved to Chrom’s side.

The two men strolled together in silence for awhile. The prince snuck a glance down at his shorter tactician every now and then, enraptured by the way Robin’s fluffy white hair practically glowed in the moonlight. Chrom had never seen anything like it before. He looked at the curve of Robin’s dark eyelashes, and the deepness of his crimson eyes. They were like rubies, with a hint of pink in their depths. He was rather pretty, really.

“Paint a portrait, it’ll last longer,” Robin said flatly.

Chrom cleared his throat, his cheeks burning. “Ah, sorry.” His tactician hadn’t even raised his eyes—how did he know he was staring?

They walked longer, and Chrom made a conscious effort not to look at Robin.

“Why do you carry that sword?”

The prince jumped, and Robin stopped beside him. “W-what?”

“Your sword,” his tactician repeated, pointing at the sheath on Chrom’s hip. “It’s Falchion, isn’t it?”

Chrom placed his hand protectively on the hilt, something he found he did for comfort. “It is. I’m surprised you know that.”

“I read a lot. Do you carry it with you everywhere?”

“I do,” he replied. “It’s gotten to the point where I don’t feel safe without it.”

“Do you carry the Fire Emblem with you, too?” Robin asked.

Chrom lifted an eyebrow. “Why would I?”

“...To protect yourself?” his tactician said obviously.

“It’s far too valuable for me to tote around Ylisse with.”

“Yet Falchion isn’t?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but paused. Huh. Robin had a point. “...With Falchion I can actively subdue threats, unlike with the Fire Emblem. And if everyone’s blades were to dull and crack in their hands, Falchion will always remain sharp. It’s of much more use and much safer if it stays with me.”

Robin hummed. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Why do you ask in the first place?”

He shrugged. “Just curious. It’s not everyday you get to see a legendary artifact.”

“Does... it bother you?” Chrom asked. His very sword had been used to seal the Fell Dragon one thousand years ago, and if Chrom had been Grimleal like Robin presumably was, he might’ve felt bothered himself.

“...A little,” Robin admitted. “But it’s nothing to fuss over. As stated, I was only curious.”

“...Do you want to touch it?”

His tactician looked up. “Touch it?”

“Yeah, I mean. I don’t know, maybe it’d make you feel better.”

“Make me feel better,” Robin repeated drily, as if there was a bad taste in his mouth. “...I’ll pass.”

Chrom wasn’t sure how, but he sensed something was wrong. He carefully raised a hand to hold Robin’s upper arm. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

The other man glanced at his gloved hand, and Chrom was scared he had made him even more uncomfortable by touching him. But Robin didn’t brush him off, so he took it as a good sign.

“I’m sorry,” Chrom continued. “I know we’ve only just met, but I really don’t want our views on dragons that aren’t around anymore to get between us. I may be ignorant to your culture, but I know Frederick’s wrong about you. I really _would_ like to know more about it.”

Robin laughed, catching him by surprise. “ _You_ , one of _Naga’s chosen_ , don’t want our views to come between us?”

Chrom’s ears grew hot. “It may seem silly, but is it really so wrong?”

“You’re certainly not your father.”

The prince wasn’t sure how to react to that. His father, the previous Exalt, was an awful, bloodthirsty fiend, who used his belief in Naga and his grief of Chrom’s mother passing to justify a war on Plegia nearly fifteen years ago. He was the whole reason why Plegia was still upset, despite Chrom’s elder sister’s best efforts towards peace. Emmeryn had been forced to take the throne of Ylisse as a child, as well as clean up the mess their father had left behind.

He chose to take Robin’s words as a compliment. “No, I’m not. My sister isn’t, either.”

“Thank gods for that. It’s getting rather late. Shall we head back?”

“Yes,” Chrom agreed, relieved to not speak any further on his father. “I suppose we ought to.”

* * *

Nightmares often plagued his dreams, but today Grima instead woke up refreshed.

Truthfully, he had been quite on edge the day prior with Falchion so near, but he realized he had nothing to be afraid of. Chrom’s body may have been strong, but his heart was soft. Grima didn’t usually respect these kinds of humans—their emotions drove them and they were easy to manipulate, making them rather stupid. Gangrel was an example of one of these humans. But perhaps because Chrom was so naïve, unlike Gangrel, it made him more entertaining and therefore more likable. Really, the prince’s self-admitted ignorance was almost kind of cute, and rather familiar.

After breakfast, the four Shepherds continued onto Ylisstol, the capital city of Ylisse and the location of the royal family’s main palace. It was presumably where the Fire Emblem was kept as well.

And because of that, Grima had a hard time controlling his giddiness when Chrom invited him inside immediately. There wasn’t any realistic way he’d be able to steal the shield right then and there, but his future prospects were looking promising if Chrom was comfortable allowing him inside on only the second day of knowing him.

“It’s this way to Emmeryn’s chambers,” Chrom was saying as he led Grima through the castle. Grass green tapestries matching the color of the velvet carpet beneath their feat hung throughout the castle between large, white marble pillars. Yellow flowers sat in pots hanging from the walls, showing their age as the frosts of October approached. The decor was a little too bright for Grima’s tastes, but he supposed it was what you got when your family’s patron dragon was Naga.

Lissa and Frederick tailed Chrom and Grima, Lissa following along to see her sister, and Frederick to find an excuse to kick Grima out.

The group came to two large double doors, fitting for the Exalt’s status. But before they went in, Chrom pulled Grima aside into another smaller room down the hall. Frederick joined them, and Lissa entered her sister’s chambers. Grima looked to Chrom for an answer, but the prince only frowned slightly.

“What’s this?” Grima asked once the three men were in the smaller room. “Are we meeting the Exalt here?”

“No,” Frederick answered. “I must ask that you remove all of your weapons before you meet Her Grace.”

Ah, so they weren’t _total_ fools.

“Sorry, Robin. I didn’t mean to spring this on you, but I promise we would do this to anyone that’s new here, not just you,” Chrom said.

“I understand.” Grima removed his bronze sword and his thunder tome from his belt, laying them on a wooden table in the middle of the room. He hesitated as his hands hovered over Grima’s Truth, but he put the purple book on the table as well.

Chrom stared at it. “I’ve never seen a tome like that before.”

“It’s dark magic,” Grima said simply, refusing to elaborate further. The two Ylisseans shared a look, but said nothing more on it. 

Grima’s Truth was a tome he had authored one thousand years ago, detailing the ways of the world, as well as documenting history from long before he had written it. Grima’s Truth was _supposed_ to be what the Grimleal took as law, but seeing how Validar and his sect had ended up... Fortunately, it was written in Thabean script, something that very few alive today would be able to decipher, let alone Chrom or Frederick. If they had been able to read it... Well, the two main points of the tome were why humanity was inherently flawed, and more incriminatingly, why Grima _needed_ his revenge on Naga.

Chrom cleared his throat to ease the silence. “Is that all?”

The dragon nodded.

“Is it alright if Frederick does a quick pat down?”

Frederick was one of the last humans Grima wanted touching him, but if it meant that he got to keep his coat and gloves (the latter hid his Brand on his right hand), then he wouldn’t complain. “Just don’t get too comfortable.”

The great knight slightly narrowed his eyes, but otherwise didn’t respond.

After Frederick searched Grima and found nothing but his canteen, the three left the dragon’s weapons in the room and went to Emmeryn’s chambers. As they opened the door, Lissa was finishing off with, “...and he’s _uber_ talented.”

The two sisters sat in opposite chairs, with a teapot and cups on the table between them. The Exalt was around Frederick’s age, with long curly hair that matched the color of Lissa’s. Naga’s Brand notably adorned the center of her forehead, impossible to miss. She wore a green and white robe with accessories of gold.

Grima had been very aware of who Emmeryn was for years now, recalling down to the date of when it was announced her father died, and a nine year-old was to take the Ylissean throne. The responsibility of a country being put on a child’s shoulders was another one of the world’s many cruelties, but it didn’t excuse the awful kind of woman she grew up to be. Emmeryn’s whole shtick had been to avoid further war as much as possible, yet had never taken obvious steps such as paying reparations to make up for her country’s crimes, calming Plegia’s ever brewing anger at being wronged. It paved the way for someone like Gangrel to rise to power, someone who tortured his subjects and continually got away with it. If Emmeryn cared for the safety and peace of both Ylisseans and Plegians like she claimed to, then she would’ve dethroned Gangrel years ago. The greater good was one of the few reasons, if not the only one, Grima felt war could ever be justified. It spoke volumes to Emmeryn’s beliefs that she only responded when Gangrel began threatening Ylissean lives.

“Chrom, welcome home. Good day Frederick, and may I presume Sir Robin?” Emmeryn greeted. Grima bowed just as the knight did. “Lissa was just telling me about your trip.”

“Hopefully we won’t have anymore bandit problems for awhile,” Chrom said.

“Wonderful. And the people of Southtown?”

“Safe as can be, Emm.” Then the prince furrowed his brow. “But we still need to watch the borders; the brigands were Plegian.”

Emmeryn sighed. “As I’m made more aware with time.”

_These worms are only concerned for their own, and not anyone else,_ Grima thought. _They speak as if they’re completely different from their neighbors... why doesn’t Plegia deserve to be cared for as well?_

“Hey, but we’ve got more help now!” Lissa said.

“Ah, yes,” Emmeryn’s expression softened with a gentle smile. “You speak of Sir Robin?”

“He fought bravely with us against the brigands,” Chrom confirmed. “I’ve decided to make him the Shepherds’ new tactician.”

“It sounds as though Ylisse owes you a debt of gratitude, Sir Robin,” the Exalt said.

_Not that it means anything coming from you, but the Fire Emblem would work._ “Not at all, Your Grace.”

“Forgive me, Your Grace, but I must speak,” Frederick predictably piped up. He side-eyed Grima, but impressively held his neutral expression. “Sir Robin claims to be a refugee of Plegia, but it is only that: a claim. We cannot rule out the possibility that he is a brigand himself, or even a Plegian spy.”

“Frederick!” Chrom spluttered. Grima shared an amused look with Lissa.

“Yet you allowed him into the castle, Chrom,” Emmeryn said calmly. “Does this man have your trust?”

“Of course,” he nodded. “He risked his life for our people, and even saved mine in the process. That’s good enough for me.”

“Well then, Sir Robin,” she turned to him with a smile. “It seems you’ve earned my brother’s faith, and as such you have mine as well.”

Grima returned her smile, daydreaming about the torture Frederick was going through from her praising him.

“But thank you, Frederick, for your prudence as always. Chrom and Lissa are blessed to have so tireless a guardian. I hope they remember to mention that from time to time.”

Unfortunately for entertainment purposes, Frederick’s tension eased slightly. “They occasionally express something akin to gratitude, Your Grace.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Emmeryn said, then faced her brother. “Chrom, we are about to hold council. I was hoping you could join us.”

“Of course.”

“I think that’s our cue, Robin!” Lissa said, rising to her feet and walking over to Grima, taking his hand. What was with these Ylissean royals and their lack of personal space? “C’mon, there’s a place I want to show you.”

_Shouldn’t your tactician be attending council as well?_ the dragon thought irritably. _No matter. I will be invited in due time if their military troubles persist, and they certainly will._

“In a moment, milady,” Frederick spoke before Grima had the chance to reply. “He and I will first retrieve his weaponry.”

He followed the knight out of the Exalt’s chambers, leaving the royal siblings behind. They went to the room Grima had been brought to before meeting Emmeryn, and thankfully, his weapons were still there on the table in the middle of the floor.

Then Frederick shut the door behind him. Grima sighed, knowing it couldn’t have been so simple.

“Listen to me _Robin_ , if that’s even your real name.” Frederick had lowered his voice, but his tone was as accusatory as ever. “If I find out you even so much as _think_ about harming the royal family, even if that thought is as small as dropping a grain of salt into their tea, I promise I will see to your punishment _personally_. And when that punishment is delivered, you won’t be begging only for Grima, you will be pleading for any damned god that’lllisten. Do I make myself clear?”

Wow, that was pretty good. Grima almost wanted to applaud Frederick. Instead, he only smiled wryly at the great knight. “Do make good on your word, then. I’ll be looking forward to it.”

Anger rolled off in tangible waves from Frederick, despite him retaining the same stern expression and posture he always held. The only difference was his clenched jaw, hard enough to shatter his teeth. Grima ignored him and gathered his weapons, then left the great knight for the hallway.

Lissa awaited him outside, bouncing in place with excitement. The princess grinned upon seeing Grima, and jogged forward to take his hand. “C’mon, let’s go already!”

She tugged him through the castle with an astonishing amount of force for such a small human. Once they were finally outside, her fast pace slowed to a casual stroll, and she released his hand. Grima remained beside her, relieved to be finished with touching her.

“You know, you really tick Frederick off,” Lissa giggled.

Grima smirked. He was finding himself enjoying her sense of humor. “I’m fully aware.”

“I admit it’s pretty funny, and he does a lot of it to himself,” Lissa went on, “but try to go easy on him. He really can’t help it.”

“ _Please_ , he likes it.”

“I mean it, Robin!”

“But he makes it so effortless,” Grima said with a playful pout.

“I know, I know. Although his scolding can be _brutal_. One time, I hid a frog in his boot, and he yelled at me for like an hour about how immature it was. Then he made me polish all of the swords in the armory, which took _forever_ because there are so stinking many of them!”

What would she think if she had heard what the great knight had just said to him? Would she believe it if Grima told her? He kept quiet on that thought, however, and only chuckled in response to her story.

“Anyway, I really hope you like it here, Robin,” Lissa said. “Everyone is super nice, and I know they’ll just love you!”

_‘Like’ may be a strong word,_ Grima thought, _but hopefully it ends up being tolerable._

Eventually, the two came upon a building surrounded by an open field, all still inside the castle walls. The walk from the castle to this new location had been a mere three minutes or so.

“Tada! This is the Shepherds’ garrison,” Lissa exclaimed with a wide grin. “Go on, make yourself at home!”

As soon as the princess opened the door, a young Ylissean woman who was perhaps a year older than Lissa with curled blonde hair practically tackled her. Her dress was light pink, the style denoting her noble station.

“Lissa, my treasure! Are you alright? I’ve been on pins and needles!” she squealed hysterically.

Grima had to keep from rolling his eyes.

“I’m fine! I can handle a battle or two!” Lissa told her. “Oh, Robin, this is Maribelle. Maribelle, Robin!”

“Charmed,” Grima said flatly.

Maribelle sniffed. “Yes, a pleasure to meet you as well. Has my darling Lissa been behaving herself? She’s not hurt at all?”

“ _Hello,_ I’m right here,” Lissa said.

“Yes, she’s been very well,” Grima replied dismissively.

“Good. Now Lissa, let me prepare you some tea.” Maribelle took the princess’s hand and dragged her away, Lissa mouthing a quick ‘sorry’ to Grima.

He was able to fully enter the building now, and found multiple Shepherds having lunch at the benched table in the room that the front door immediately entered into. A kitchen with cabinets and countertops lined the wall to Grima’s left, and a doorway on the far wall led into a branching hallway, likely into the dormitories (which was where Maribelle had taken Lissa). The door on the left wall was shut.

One of the Shepherds sitting at the table, a sturdy young woman with wild red hair and matching clothing, called to him. “Hey, new guy! Get your ass over here!”

_Do I have to?_ Grima thought begrudgingly, but walked over regardless. The sturdy woman scooted over and patted the spot on the bench next to her. He sat down.

“Name’s Sully,” she said.

“Robin.”

“How’d the captain pick you up? You’re awfully scrawny.”

He assumed by ‘captain,’ she meant Chrom. “I helped him drive off some bandits in Southtown. I’m primarily a mage, hence my... _scrawniness_ , as well as your new tactician.” While Grima appeared skinny from his clothing, most of it covered the lean muscle he did possess. If he didn’t train with a sword, he doubted much of that muscle would remain.

Sully’s lips formed an ‘O’ in understanding. “I’m a cavalier. But hey, don’t worry about being a squirt, we got some other lil’ magic guys here, too. This is Miriel and Ricken.”

She nodded to the two Ylisseans sitting across from her. Miriel was a young woman and had red-brown hair. She wore black, conventional elemental mage’s clothing with a large hat and glasses. Ricken was a boy, perhaps younger than even Lissa, with short brown hair and clothes in the same style as Miriel’s. The only difference between their robes was that his were a dull blue.

“Hi,” Ricken said.

“Greetings,” Miriel nodded. “I was our acting tactician before you arrived, but I must admit I’m ecstatic someone with the proper expertise has taken my station. Which type of affinity for magic do you possess?”

“Any black magic,” Grima answered. Technically he also dealt in white magic (which included light magic and healing magic), but he lacked any intent in using it unless strictly necessary. It was rare that one who had an affinity for dark magic could also have an affinity for white magic, so he left it out of his explanation as to avoid suspicion. “But I lean towards elemental, particularly thunder magic.”

“ _Nerds!_ ” a masculine voice said from other side of Sully. The cavalier leaned back to reveal a blonde-haired, young Ylissean man, with lightly tanned skin. Most notably, he was shirtless—how repulsive.

“Waihk, be po-ligh! We jush meh the guy!” another Ylissean man said from beside Miriel across the table, ironically with his mouth full. He had brown hair that tinted into a dull green when the light caught it, and he wore olive-colored clothing that matched Sully’s.

“Vaike, an axe fighter, and Stahl, another cavalier,” Sully supplied, pointing at each man with her thumb respectively. “At the very end of the table, Virion, an archer, and Sumia, a pegasus knight.”

Virion was a Rosannite man with voluminous blue-gray hair and the clothing of a nobleman, while Sumia was an Ylissean women with silvery brown hair and a deep purple dress.

“And next to Virion?” Grima asked. An Ylissean man with orange clothes and tree bark brown hair sat beside him.

Sully stared at Grima like he was a moron, then looked near Virion again. After a moment, she said, “Oh, you mean Kellam? He’s a knight. Sharp eyes, though—we lose him a lot.”

Grima could tell; a curse practically pulsated from that side of the table. At least an invisibility hex was a useful curse to have—especially during battle.

“I look forward to working with you all,” the dragon said, despite how weakly he felt about his statement.

It was then that Chrom returned, with Frederick close behind him.

Sumia shot to her feet. “Captain, you’re back!” she exclaimed a little too loudly. “I was—I mean, _we_ were so—” The pegasus knight attempted to walk forward, but was still between the dining table and the bench, ending with her tripping and falling flat on her face. Entertaining for Grima now, perhaps, but if he were to lead the Shepherds in battle... Suffice to say, he was not particularly impressed.

“Sumia! Are you alright?” Chrom asked, swooping down to the floor and subsequently helping her up. “...Those boots of yours again?”

_The boots are absolutely not cursed like that one human,_ Grima thought, lifting his eyebrow. _What could possibly be wrong with them?_

Sumia’s face was a bright scarlet. “No! I mean yes! I mean... _ugh_ ,” she sighed.

Now Grima understood. Something told him she liked Chrom more than just as her captain.

Gross.

Chrom carefully let go of her hand, ready to catch her if need be. She stood upright on her own, so the prince turned to address the rest of the Shepherds. Lissa and Maribelle joined the group from the dormitories.

“I was just attending the royal council, and we discussed our ongoing bandit problem,” he explained. “Long story short, it was agreed upon that due to Ylisse’s lack of a standing military, we’ll be requesting Regna Ferox’s aid. We leave tomorrow morning.”

“Why doesn’t the Exalt herself go?” Grima questioned.

“Typically she would, but given recent events... Well, the people might worry should my sister suddenly leave the capital,” Chrom said.

_More like she can’t be bothered to leave her cushy throne,_ Grima thought, quirking his lip.

The prince continued. “So the task has been passed to us. Now, this mission is strictly voluntary. So if, for any—”

Most of the Shepherds volunteered unanimously, with Sumia and Maribelle being the stragglers. But while eventually the pegasus knight, too, slowly raised her hand, Maribelle did not.

“Sorry my lord, I would if I didn’t have a trial to observe back home,” the young noblewoman apologized.

“Court?” Chrom asked.

“Yes.”

_ Another convenient excuse for another stuck up noble. _

“Don’t worry about it, we’ll be alright. Moving on, I’m sure you’ve all been introduced, but in case you haven’t, this is Robin, our new tactician,” the prince said, gesturing to Grima. “Robin, once you’ve settled in, I would ask your help in planning our route.”

“Will do.”

“Any questions?” Chrom scanned the Shepherds’ faces, but they each shook their heads. “Then you’re all dismissed for the day. Remember: we march tomorrow morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when i played awakening, i never really understood gangrels criticisms of emmeryn and honestly just kinda dismissed them as him being your typical mad villain. i prefer it when villains have some actual justification/substance behind their views, even if they’re objectively wrong, so i did my best to show the reasoning behind grimas views (even if he’s a huge hypocrite, but we’ll get to that later)
> 
> grima’s gonna have a lot on his plate with all these whacky humans :^)


	3. Frosty Engagement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Recap**  
>  Chrom expresses interest in getting to know Grima, the Shepherds’ new tactician, and wants to each be able to put their faiths aside in order to cooperate. The next day, Grima, Chrom, Frederick, and Lissa arrive in Ylisstol and meet with Emmeryn, who Grima holds little respect for. Frederick reiterates his distrust towards Grima, but Emmeryn puts her faith in the new tactician thanks to Chrom. Then, Lissa introduces Grima to the rest of the Shepherds, and Chrom announces a mission to forge an alliance between Ylisse and Regna Ferox.
> 
>  **Summary**  
>  Grima and Chrom chart their course to Regna Ferox, and the Shepherds begin their journey the next day. However, the militia soon finds trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dug too long for landmarks (i haven’t played shadow dragon or new mystery of the emblem) and idk if the names are even right/geographically close to what i went with but. anyways. good enough

“As I see it, there are realistically two options for our route to East Ferox. Either we go west through the Lea of Aurelis and avoid the Aurelian forest entirely, or we go through the Aurelian forest on the Northroad, while keeping the East Aurelian mountains to the east of us.”

After showing Robin his new room and allowing him time to relax, Chrom and his tactician stood shoulder to shoulder over his desk, examining a map of the Ylissean continent.

Robin pointed at the map as he spoke, tracing out each route respectively. “Going around the west side through the lea would be the faster route, but marching through the forest offers protection from possible bandit attacks. And should things go poorly in Ferox, the forest and mountains also provide more options for places to retreat to.” He paused for a moment, speaking almost to himself, “However, since we do have a pegasus knight on our side, scouting would be much easier out in the open in the lea.”

Chrom looked up at him, furrowing an eyebrow. “I would think the obvious option is the western route through the Lea of Aurelis—the Northroad is notorious for its lack of timeliness. We can handle bandits, and I doubt we’ll be doing any fighting with Ferox. It’s a simple diplomatic mission.”

“Don’t be so sure. Regna Ferox is known to constantly settle even internal affairs with battle,” Robin said. “They haven’t allied themselves with another country in ages—we have no idea how they’ll react to us marching on their border.”

“Gods, we aren’t trying to start a second war here.”

“ _We_ wouldn’t engage them, but should _they_ engage _us_... We might as well prepare for the worst.” Robin held his crimson eyes to Chrom’s steadily. For the second time that day, he found himself admiring their hue. “My vote is for through the Aurelian forest on the Northroad.”

Theoretically, the route with the most protection would be through the Eastern Aurelian mountains, but Chrom figured Robin hadn’t brought it up due to how much longer that path would take.

“I suppose it does also give news of our march more time to arrive,” the prince conceded, dragging his gaze from Robin’s and training it on the map. “I’ll trust your judgment.”

Robin nodded. “Then we should aim to reach the forest in the next two days.”

Chrom frowned. “To make that kind of time, we’d be marching after sundown.”

“Would you rather be killed in the middle of the night?”

He chuckled. “When you put it like that... after sundown it is then.” He then straightened himself and turned to Robin. “Thank you for your help with this. I appreciate it.”

His tactician hummed, his eyes loosely trailing down Chrom’s bare arm. His heart inexplicably quickened for a moment, and Robin’s gaze rose to his again.

“Chrom, what’s the real reason Her Grace won’t travel to Ferox in person?”

“ _Real_ reason?” Chrom echoed curiously. He hadn’t been expecting a question like that. “It’s exactly as I said earlier—the Ylissean people could panic if Emm were to suddenly leave.”

“If the general populace is that fickle, perhaps they deserve to panic,” Robin muttered. “Wouldn’t it make more sense for the Shepherds to remain here? The royal pegasus knights are much more useful for scouting missions—Ylisse will be open to bandit attacks while we’re gone.”

“Even if the Shepherds were to stay in Ylisse, we still wouldn’t be able to protect everyone,” Chrom said. “Emm cares a lot about our people—by her staying home, they feel safer.”

“They _feel_ safer, and yet they’re actually not.” Robin gave a hollow laugh. “I see.”

“The pegasus knights are still here to serve our people,” Chrom replied, annoyance creeping on the edge of his tone. Perhaps it was the difference in their backgrounds, but he really didn’t see the point in arguing over it.

“Allow me to be blunt for a moment—in the eyes of Regna Ferox, it makes Ylisse look weak to be sending someone else.” His tactician’s tone implied an unsaid, ‘And I happen to agree.’

“Look, Robin,” the prince huffed. “Maybe at the end of the day, you’re right. But think about it like this: my father, the late Exalt, was constantly away, off fighting meaningless battles simply because he could. And because he was gone, he severely neglected his people. In fragile times like these, Ylisseans don’t want to be reminded of those days. It took them long enough to forgive Emm for things she didn’t even do. And it’s not as if she’s accomplishing absolutely nothing by staying back.”

Robin didn’t answer right away, and Chrom sighed. “I appreciate your input, Robin. Really, I do. But me questioning her won’t make her life easier, and the peoples’ support is what’s most important. Without it, nothing would ever get done, and they would be in even more danger. If what my sister was asking was completely unreasonable, I promise I would do everything in my power to change her mind. But if this is what she believes is best, then Ferox be damned, because that’s what I believe too.”

Chrom’s own words surprised him—he was usually awful at one-on-one conversation and explaining his thoughts thoroughly. Perhaps the words had come easily to him because for whatever reason, he felt comfortable around Robin despite the short amount of time they had known each other. He wondered if his tactician felt similarly; why else would he bring his concerns to his commander? Most weren’t brave enough to challenge authority, especially not on their second day.

“...I see you hold a lot of respect for your sister,” Robin said eventually, dragging the prince from his thoughts, “and furthermore, that you have the people’s best interests at heart.”

“I do.”

“...I’ll follow your lead, then.”

“Thank you,” Chrom said graciously, relieved to put the matter to rest. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get some training in while the sun is still up. You’re fully welcome to join me.”

Robin tilted his head thoughtfully. “Maybe I will take you up on that.”

* * *

That night Grima lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling. His mind replayed his earlier conversation with Chrom while plotting the Shepherds’ course for Ferox.

He had been pushing it he knew, challenging Chrom on his sister’s decision. He had wanted to know how the Ylisseans could be so cruel as to leave their citizens behind, but the way the prince explained the matter, it made some sort of sense why Chrom believed in Emmeryn. Grima couldn’t say that he agreed—if he himself gave a damn about humans, their physical safety would come before their feelings. He was beyond certain it was an elaborate excuse for the Exalt to remain safely in the castle. Humans put themselves before anyone else, and any good deed was either coincidence, or to further their own agendas. That was how war came about, because humans would never stop scrambling over one another for power. It was disgusting.

However, through Chrom’s reasoning, as misguided as it was, it sounded like he genuinely... cared. Maybe or maybe not about Plegians, but at least for Ylisseans. Perhaps Emmeryn too, for that matter, but Grima had already seen more than enough of her character.

He wasn’t a fool. Grima knew his own views of humanity were generalizations. But the vast majority of humans adhered to them, causing those beliefs in the first place. He had personally met humans who truly cared for others, but they were few and far between. Some of them without a doubt, some of them in strange ways like Tharja.

Chrom was emotional, especially surrounding the subject of his family, so it was possible he only followed his sister out of guilt. Grima wouldn’t make up his mind on the prince just yet—humans were fantastic at obscuring their true natures.

He hoped Chrom was just as disgusting as the rest of them. If not... deceiving him would be that much harder.

* * *

The next day, the Shepherds set forth to Ferox. The experience was surreal for Grima—he hadn’t been around this many humans for an extended period of time in a long while.

While the Shepherds marched during the day, the humans constantly chattered. Grima was on the receiving end of most of their conversations because he was the newest member. It was downright exhausting. He just wanted to be left alone, but it would take some time before that precedent could be established. It didn’t help his mood, either, that he could feel Frederick’s eyes boring into him at every given moment.

Two hours after sundown, the Shepherds stopped and set up their camp. Drained from the day, Grima retreated to his tent immediately after dinner. Unfortunately, the Shepherds’ tents were all directly next to each other, leaving much to be desired as far as peace and quiet. The bright side, though, was that they were halfway to reaching the Aurelian forest.

The next morning, Grima attempted to remain at the back of the group while they marched. It wasn’t working, though, because Chrom kept easing his pace to stay by Grima’s side, ultimately slowing all of the Shepherds down, as they wanted to follow behind the prince. And because Chrom was near Grima, Frederick was never far. With a huff, the dragon sped up to get the prince back to the front of the march—if he hadn’t, he doubted the Shepherds would’ve been camping in the forest that night.

A few days passed, and the temperature began to drop the further north they went. How Chrom continued with his Branded arm uncovered was beyond Grima. He wasn’t a fan of the cold at all (with his internal temperature being slightly higher than humans’), but he was glad that at least everyone else wasn’t either, and it made the Shepherds less talkative overall.

Then at last, the trees thinned out and the Shpeherds were upon the Feroxi Longfort. It was a massive wall of concrete that stretched across the Ylissean continent and touched the sky. The humans cheered, and Grima let out a sigh of relief. He was looking forward to being indoors again.

“Frederick, ride ahead and announce our arrival,” Chrom said. “We’ll catch up with you in a moment.”

“Yes, milord.” The great knight flicked the reigns of his horse and galloped off, leaving a shower of flurries in his wake. It wasn’t long until the Shepherds came before the fortress, and Frederick returned.

“Trouble in the wind, milord: the Feroxi Guard are mobilizing.”

The prince grimaced and looked to Grima. “It seems as though you were right, Robin. I’m going to attempt to reason with the commanding officer before we jump into battle.”

_So much for the safety of the forest,_ Grima thought, keeping himself from rolling his eyes. Aloud, he said, “You’ll get yourself skewered doing that. Frederick and I will go with you.” He then addressed the rest of the Shepherds. “All of you remain here, but be ready to fight if you see my signal—a flash of magic. I’ll provide further instructions once you arrive.”

Chrom nodded. “Alright then, let’s go.”

Thankfully, the prince’s manservant didn’t argue against Grima’s orders, and the three men approached the fortress. The dragon peered at the top of its wall, making out a line of knights and archers, undoubtedly ready to rain down javelins and arrows at a moment’s notice.

“ _Halt!_ ” an alto voice belonging to one of the Feroxi knights, and presumingly the commanding officer called down. “Who goes there!”

“In the name of House Ylisse, I seek audience with the Khans!” Chrom called back.

“Not another step, my bold lad! I’ve lancers at the ready!”

“Hold, milady, we are not your enemy!” Frederick tried. “Exalt Emmeryn herself sent us to discuss matters of mutual interest.”

_ Mutual interest, my ass. These Feroxis shouldn’t have a single reason to ally themselves with Ylisse against Plegia—not when they have the Longfort to protect them from both countries at the same time. Unless Ylisse has been saving a bit of gold from the lack of reparations and standing military... _

“My only interest is keeping you out of Regna Ferox, brigand!” the Feroxi knight retorted, confirming Grima’s suspicions.

“ _B-brigand?_ ” Frederick spluttered, comically losing his composure. “Now see _here—!_ ”

“You think you are the first ‘Ylisseans’ to try and cross our border? I have the authority to fell such imposters where they stand!”

“Uh oh,” Chrom whispered to Grima. “I hope you have that signal ready.”

He nodded, while Frederick continued his argument with the Feroxi knight. “How _dare_ you! You are in the presence of _Prince Chrom_ , the Exalt’s own _blood!_ ”

She scoffed. “Ha! Yes, indeed—and _I’m_ the queen of _Valm!_ You do realize impersonating royalty is a capital offense, yes?” Grima could practically see the steam coming from Frederick’s ears. “Hm... Then perhaps we should settle this the _Feroxi_ way. You claim to be the prince of Ylisse? Then prove it on the battlefield!”

“Emm won’t like this at all,” Chrom growled, then raised his voice to address the Feroxi knight again. “Please, good lady! If you’d just listen—!”

“I’ve heard quite enough! Attack!”

Javelins and arrows alike fell from the heavens. But Grima was ready.

He wrapped one arm around Chrom’s waist, causing the prince to squeak in surprise, and yanked him towards Frederick. Grima raised his other hand and poured magic out, forming a glowing, violet shield of energy above their heads—the signal. Chrom and Frederick gasped simultaneously as the Feroxi projectiles thunked uselessly against the shield, and after the onslaught was over, the rest of the Shepherds arrived to their aid.

“How did you do that?” Chrom exclaimed.

Black spots danced at the edge of Grima’s vision as he silently cursed his human vessel’s fragility. Most humans couldn’t summon magic without a sort of conductor, usually a tome or staff, and if they _could_ , it took quite a bit of mana—in other words, magical energy. Conductors cut down on mana usage, as they aided in both increasing the power of the caster’s magic and decreasing the energy required to cast. The only reason to not use a conductor was if your hands were tied, metaphorically or otherwise. In the case of full-on dragons, conductors _inhibited_ magical power. What Grima had done was no specific spell—it was simply raw energy. Using it wouldn’t have done a thing to him if he had his true form, and therefore his full power available to him, but he had forgotten his current limitations.

To cover up the truth, the dragon wordlessly pulled back his coat and tapped his gloved hand against Grima’s Truth hanging from his belt. Chrom nor Frederick would be any the wiser about it being a lie—they knew nothing about what the dark tome did anyway.

Grima shut his eyes as he willed his dizziness away, attempting to focus on the battle at hand.

“We’ll... split into two groups. The first group... agh,” he grunted, his knees buckling. Gloved hands grabbed his elbows.

“Robin, are you alright?” Chrom said, his brow wrinkled in worry as he held Grima.

“What happened?” Lissa asked.

“The spell he used as the signal—”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Grima hissed, but didn’t dare leave the prince’s support. An inexperienced cleric wouldn’t be able to do much for him—he’d just have to wait the mana deprivation out. He forced himself to continue with his plan. “The first group... will be Chrom, Sully, Kellam, Ricken, and Virion. The second group... will be Frederick, Stahl, Vaike, Miriel, and I—”

“I think it’d be best if I kept an eye on you,” Chrom interrupted.

Grima indulged his urge to eye-roll this time, but didn’t have the energy to argue. “Fine, _whatever_ —I’m in Chrom’s group, Virion’s in Frederick’s group. We’ll split up and storm... our respective staircases up the fortress, and once on top, we’ll meet back up in the middle. Those with ranged weapons... stay behind and support the vanguards. Meanwhile, Lissa will ride with Sumia on her pegasus. Sumia, fly back and forth... between our two groups so that Lissa can heal us. Whatever you do... steer clear of archers. Any questions? No...? Then Frederick’s group go right, Chrom’s group will go left.”

The Shepherds split into their respective groups. Chrom led his group to the left side of the Longfort, where a group of Feroxi soldiers awaited them. An armored knight and a lancer charged at the Shepherds as soon as they appeared, while two archers remained behind them, ready to fire.

“Kellam and Ricken, take on the knight! Sully, you have the lancer!” Grima ordered. The group divided further to deal with their designated soldiers. He turned to Chrom. “You and I... will go for the archers; dodge the others soldiers as much as you can.”

Chrom gave him a wary look.

“ _What?_ ” Grima snapped. Curse his frail vessel—it was obvious he hadn’t recovered.

“I don’t think I should leave your side,” the prince said.

Grima groaned. “I won’t be using anymore magic right now. Just go!”

“Stay by me until we can reach them, then,” Chrom said, taking the lead.

Grima and Chrom skirted around the prodding lances together, then went on to engage the archers. With a nod, Grima drew his bronze sword, and Chrom drew Falchion. Nausea rose in the dragon’s stomach, but he ignored it in favor of focusing on the battle. Grima charged forward to take on one archer while Chrom took on the other.

The Feroxi archer shot off one rogue arrow before Grima was on him. Grima gave a forceful swing with his sword, knocking the archer’s bow from his hands entirely. Grima kicked the bow away, leaving him defenseless.

The archer yelped, “Help!”

The dragon twisted around with a grunt, the movement hard on his aching body, as the knight Kellam and Ricken had been tasked with threw his javelin at Grima. But Chrom was there in a flash, pushing Grima down into the snow as the lance flew uselessly past, his body completely on top of Grima’s and squeezing every bit of air from his lungs. Ricken struck the knight with wind magic, while Sully disarmed the lancer she was focused on. Seeing that they all had been considerably weakened and/or disarmed, the four Feroxi soldiers fled.

“Now we’re even,” Chrom said, referring to his life being saved earlier. He got off of Grima and offered a hand, before pulling the dragon to his feet.

Grima struggled for air before forcing out a breathy response.  “...Actually it’s two to one, but who’s counting.”

Chrom frowned at him. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

“Why not watch your own hide for a change,” the dragon muttered, wrinkling his nose. “Besides, it’s not like I’ve any other option.”

“Do we give chase, Captain?” Sully asked, and Grima was thankful for the change in conversation.

Chrom stared at him for a moment longer, his expression reading, ‘We’re not done talking about this yet.’ He then shifted his focus and replied to Sully, “No, let them retreat. Regna Ferox isn’t our enemy—I doubt they’d take kindly to us wasting their men.”

It was then that Sumia and Lissa arrived on the former’s pegasus. The princess dismounted and began healing the group with her staff.

“How are the others holding up?” Chrom questioned the two women.

“They had a bit of trouble with a swordsman on that side, but you know how Frederick fights,” Lissa said. “How is Robin?”

“I told you, I’m _fine_ ,” Grima scowled. _Humans and their prodding_. “Let’s just get up the damn stairs already.”

The royal siblings shared a look before Lissa got back on Sumia’s pegasus and took into the sky again.

“Kellam, take the lead up the stairs, you’ve got the most bulk,” Grima said once the two women had gone. Thankfully, most of his breath had returned. “Ricken, would you be able to aim around him with the limited amount of space on the stairwell?” The young mage nodded vigorously. “Then we should have a little breathing room once we get up there. Kellam and Ricken, when the coast’s clear, move aside to let Sully through, then the rest of us will follow.”

The knight and mage duo climbed the stairs, making quick work of the knight that awaited at the top. Sully led her horse up the staircase, then Chrom and Grima came afterwards. They were just in time, as an archer, a swordsman, and an axe fighter were charging the small group of Shepherds.

Chrom darted forward, catching the fighter’s axe with his sword before any real damage could be done to his soldiers. Sully engaged the swordsman ambushing Chrom’s left side, while Grima took the archer ambushing his right.

Still weakened, Grima was a bit slower than he would’ve liked in disarming this archer, but once he was finished, he found that Chrom had taken victory over the axe fighter, and was currently helping Sully with the swordsman.

“Watch out!” Ricken cried. Both Chrom and Sully dove away just as a blast of wind magic wedged itself between them, hitting the Feroxi swordsman. The soldier was flung to the ground, his sword clattering as it fell from his hand. He scrambled to his feet, and he and his comrades, too, retreated.

“Well done, everyone,” Chrom huffed, a bead of sweat creeping down his forehead. “Assuming Frederick’s group fared as well as we have, all that’s left is to take down the commanding officer.”

“I’m surprised she’s still there,” Ricken said. “I mean, all her soldiers are gone. Why not just surrender now?”

“Based on how easily those soldiers were beaten earlier, I believe we’re being tested,” Chrom explained. “I suppose I ought to duel her myself to convince her that Ylissean royalty can look after themselves.” He nodded to Grima, a reference to their conversation shortly before they had left Ylisstol.

_He’s right, but there was a very real chance of him becoming a pin cushion earlier,_ Grima thought. _I don’t know what those damned Feroxis were thinking with that little stunt._

Just then, Sumia’s pegasus returned to their group, and Lissa dismounted to check for injuries.

“Sir Frederick’s group awaits your orders, Captain,” Sumia said.

“Tell him I’ll be dueling the commander on my own,” the prince replied. “Lissa can stay here this time.”

As the pegasus knight took off, Grima felt his adrenaline fading and his headache from overuse of magic returning. He was glad he wouldn’t have to do anything for the final match—he was looking forward to getting a bed or maybe a nice floor to collapse onto.

The Shepherds all met up in the middle area between their two groups along the Longfort wall where the Feroxi knight stood. Here, Grima got a better look at her—she had brown skin, a deeper shade than his own, and short-cropped blond hair.

Chrom drew his sword in challenge. She struck the base of her lance into the ground.

“Let our battle sound out the truth of your words!” she shouted. “ _En garde!_ ”

The prince immediately charged at her, and the knight caught his sword with her lance. Grima was impressed at how the knight’s feet hadn’t budged an inch; he knew how much force Chrom put into his swordplay. The two duelers ground their blades against each other for a moment, until the knight pushed forward, resulting in Chrom stumbling backwards in a loss of balance. She swung her lance at him, and the prince only barely pivoted away, narrowly avoiding being sliced in half.

Regaining his footing, Chrom and the knight exchanged blow after blow, their weapons ringing out _cling_ after _clang_. Until finally, the prince managed to wedge the lance from the Feroxi knight’s hands. He pointed the tip of Falchion inches from her face, silently declaring himself the winner.

“Then your claims were true,” the knight said, a smile creeping on her face. She didn’t sound at all upset that she had lost. “Allow me to properly introduce myself. I am General Raimi, in direct service of Khan Flavia of East Ferox. A thousand apologies, Prince Chrom. I truly took you for brigand impostors. But no frauds could ever wage a battle as you just have! I will send word of your arrival to the capital and escort you there personally.”

Chrom lowered his blade, breathing a sigh of relief. “That would be most appreciated.”

“If you please, have your company follow me inside—the interior of the Longfort is much warmer than the exterior.”

The Feroxi knight bowed, and the Shepherds followed her lead and descended into a hatch at the top of the wall, down a staircase inside of the fort.

“Thank Naga,” Lissa said as they entered. “If you thought that was cold, imagine the wind whipping you in the face on the back of a pegasus!”

Grima hardly acknowledged her, instead training his focus on his boots, trying not to faint. Suddenly a hand was on his shoulder.

“How are you holding up?” Chrom asked.

“Fine,” Grima mumbled dismissively.

The corners of the prince’s lips quirked down slightly. “I’ll see if I can find somewhere for you to lay down. Just hang in there a little longer.”

He nodded wordlessly, begrudgingly supposing that Chrom’s attentiveness had its uses. While he didn’t want to personally slow their travel down, Grima knew the other Shepherds likely needed rest as well.

After that, it was off to Regna Ferox’s capital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my favorite part of this chapter is solely the chrom squeak when grima grabs him


	4. Diversion in Diplomacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Recap**  
>  After a conversation while planning the Shepherds’ route to Ferox to request aid for Ylisse, Grima wonders about Chrom’s true character. The Shepherds then make their journey, but are met with hostility from East Ferox at the border. Grima saves Chrom’s life but accidentally uses too much mana in the process, and Chrom worries for him in the battle that follows. The prince defeats General Raimi, and is promised an audience with Khan Flavia.
> 
>  **Summary**  
>  The Shepherds arrive at Castle Ferox and request aid from Khan Flavia. Chrom makes a deal with her in exchange for help with Plegia. Meanwhile, trouble brews back in Ylisse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it was not my intention for this chapter to go as long as it did, as i wanted to keep each chapters word count to around 3.5k to 4k but. i doubt anyone’s complaining ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> i did mean to post this in like a week in a half but i was editing and accidentally hit post so. here it is lmao

After their battle at the Longfort, the Shepherds stayed the night before traveling to the capital the next day. Really, everyone had been _capable_ of traveling without needing a good night’s sleep, but Chrom could tell Robin needed the breather. His tactician had protested, but Chrom wouldn’t have it. Eventually he would need to have a conversation with Robin about what happened, too, but not until he was feeling better.

Chrom was surprised at the efficiency of travel to the capital, despite the city being on the other side of the Divide, a string of mountains that split Regna Ferox into East and West. On the outside, Regna Ferox seemed like a frigid land where only the strongest could survive. But they cared about their people and infrastructure just as any kingdom—perhaps the cold only brought them closer together, seeing as nobody would be able to get by on their own in a place like this.

The capital city, the whole simply referred to as Castle Ferox (despite the castle not being the entire city), was a large circle contained within a wall that looked menacing to invade; it rivaled the walls one would expect of a military fortress. Inside, it was as bustling as Ylisstol was with its businesses and homes. The air of the people was different, however; Ylisseans were known for their politeness and being on the quieter side, while the Feroxi people here seemed to be loud and boisterous. As the Shepherds made their way through the city, Chrom heard expletives shouted in public multiple times. He liked it.

Chrom had only been to Ferox one other time as a young child, when his father had appealed to the Khans for aid in his crusade against Plegia over a decade ago. Feroxis had never been interested in conflict outside their homeland, especially when the late Exalt’s cause had been based solely in prejudice and conspiracy. When his father’s request was rejected, his father became enraged and promised Naga’s retribution after she was ‘done with the Plegians.’ Regna Ferox had kept both Ylisse and Plegia at an arm’s-length since then, with contact kept only for bare necessities, such as maintaining international trade routes. Chrom could count on one hand the amount of times Emmeryn had been to Ferox between their father’s last visit and Chrom’s visit now, but she had brought only her personal guards, and neither Chrom nor Lissa.

Needless to say, Chrom was nervous. He certainly wasn’t the most diplomatic of the Shepherds, and this wasn’t something he could afford to mess up. The skirmish at the border had already been a huge mistake, and he figured he had used up his blessings by _somehow_ getting out of that misunderstanding with Ylisse’s reputation still intact. Hell, the prince would’ve been likely killed, too, if it hadn’t been for Robin.

...Maybe Regna Ferox wasn’t the most... _sane_ country to look for an alliance with.

Once the arriving at the castle, Chrom, Frederick, and Robin were herded by General Raimi to the courtyard. The prince expected a garden of some sort, but it ended up being a wide-open space, littered with training dummies and targets. What appeared to be guardsmen were sparring one another with great focus, not even looking up at the arrival of foreigners. Chrom shivered—it seemed the cold temperatures pervaded even here.

In the middle of the courtyard, a tan woman wearing navy clothing with thick, frizzy blond hair tied back into a ponytail was sword-fighting with a guard. The guard was winning, slowly forcing her to take steps back to allow more room. Then in a flash, the guard’s sword was launched from his hands.

“Flier!” the guard and the woman shouted simultaneously. General Raimi, still in her armor, raised her shield to protect Chrom, Frederick, and Robin, while all of the other guards intently sparring in the courtyard immediately dropped their weapons and fell to the ground. The launched sword hit one of the castle’s pillars, clanging uselessly to the floor, and the guards stood again, continuing to spar without missing a beat.

“Impressive,” Frederick said approvingly.

“I’ll say,” Chrom agreed. He could sense Robin’s neutrality behind him, not betraying feelings one way or the other.

“Khan Flavia!” Raimi called out. “The Ylisseans have arrived!”

The aforementioned woman looked up, and after exchanging a few words with the guard she had been sparring with, walked over to meet them.

“I present to you East Khan Regnant Flavia,” Raimi said with a bow.

“Thank you, General,” Flavia said, using the back of her hand to wipe her own forehead. The Feroxi knight dismissed herself. “Greetings, Prince Chrom. I hope that flier didn’t scare you.”

“Greetings, Your Grace.” Chrom bowed before continuing, “And if you mean that sword from your spar, not at all. In truth, it was quite the feat.”

She grinned. “Let’s head somewhere a little more quiet—I love the ring of clashing blades as much as the next person, but it’s not great for conversation.”

The Khan led the three men back inside the castle, down the halls, and eventually reaching a meeting room with a long oval table. Flavia seated herself at the head and patted the spot beside her. Chrom was glad he wouldn’t have to sit at the other end of the table, where he’d have to shout across the room. They all took their seats, with Frederick across from him, and Robin to his immediate right.

“Let me start off by apologizing for the troubles at the border, Prince Chrom,” Khan Flavia said. “You are welcome in Regna Ferox.”

Chrom exchanged a quick look with Frederick before replying. “Thank you, but I’m confident we can put that misunderstanding behind us. Is it true bandits posing as Ylisseans have been ransacking your border villages?”

“Yes, those Plegian dogs! No offense to your friend there,” Flavia nodded to Robin, who didn’t so much as blink. “We found documents proving as much on the corpse of one of their captains. Plegia must see some benefit in raising tensions between your kingdom and ours.”

Chrom slammed his fist on the table. “ _Damn them!_ ” Frederick visibly tensed, and the prince remembered where he was, heat filling his cheeks in embarrassment. “I... Forgive me, Your Grace. That was... _indelicately_ put.”

She laughed, and more curiously, Robin chuckled quietly beside him. Chrom was learning Robin to be personable when he wanted to be—was laughter an appropriate response here, or had his composure simply slipped?

“Tell me, have you been to Ferox before, Prince Chrom?” Flavia asked.

“Er, once. As a small child.” He omitted that it had been with his father.

“Well damn those Plegians and damn delicacy! You’ll learn real fast that here in Ferox, we appreciate plain speech.”

Ah, Robin’s reaction made sense now. “In that case, you should have a word with your damn border guards.”

“Now _that’s_ Feroxi diplomacy!” Flavia laughed harder.

Frederick looked as stern as ever, clearly unhappy with how casually the matter was being treated. The great knight was used to Chrom’s antics in an informal setting, but it was likely unnerving for a foreign leader to act like that in serious discussion. Robin’s impartial air had dropped, and he actually seemed pleased. It helped Chrom to ease up a bit—he was much better at speaking when he didn’t have to worry about every word that came from his mouth.

“Yes, I like you already!” Flavia continued. “Anyway, I know why you have come, Prince. But regrettably, I cannot provide any Feroxi troops for Ylisse.”

Chrom had to keep his mouth from falling open. “Why not?”

She shrugged. “I lack the authority.”

_What?_ “Forgive me, but I don’t understand. Aren’t you the Khan?”

“I am _one_ of the Khans. In Ferox, the Khans of east and west hold a tournament every few years. The victor acquires total sovereignty over both kingdoms. And that means they have the final say when it comes to forging alliances. The West Khan won the last tournament, you see, and so…”

“Ah, I understand now.” Chrom swung his head to Robin, surprised he had spoken due to how quiet he had been the whole meeting. “Let me guess: you want us to fight on your behalf in the next tournament, conveniently a few days from now.”

Flavia gave a sly smile and raised her hands in mock surrender. “You caught me.”

_They want us to fight in a tournament? ...That’s why they were testing us at the border,_ Chrom realized. “Hold for a moment and catch me up here—is it not a tournament between the two Khans? I would have assumed Ylisseans had no place in such Feroxi traditions.”

“Ha! On the contrary. The Khans choose champions to represent them,” Flavia explained. “Otherwise our land would be rife with blood feuds and dead Khans! We don’t involve comrades or kin for the same reason. Over time, it was decided the tournament should be fought by outsiders.” She grinned again. “Although the outsiders have never included foreign royalty... that I know of! Ha! Regardless, it is your choice to make.”

“There—” Chrom began, but stopped upon noticing a subtle shake of Frederick’s head. “Er—I mean, would you mind if my comrades and I stepped outside for a moment?”

“Please, don’t get up on my behalf. Let me know when you’re ready.” The Khan stood from her seat and exited the room, shutting the door behind her.

“What’s wrong, Frederick?” the prince asked. “And know we’re not leaving here without that aid.”

“Milord, I believe it best to go straight to the source and ask the West Khan for aid instead,” his great knight said. “Wouldn’t you feel some resentment for your new allies if they had just gotten done dethroning you? If we stay out of it, it’ll be better for our overall relations with Regna Ferox.”

“If we win, it wouldn’t matter how Basilio—the West Khan—feels about it,” Robin countered, crossing his arms. “Besides, unless there’s a full vault of gold back in Ylisstol that I don’t know about, Regna Ferox has no real reason to team up with Ylisse—not with the protection they’re offered by the Longfort. Basilio’s older than Flavia, and less likely to jump on potential war. Winning the tournament is a surefire way of guaranteeing Ylisse receives aid.”

“Hmm. I think Robin’s right,” Chrom said. “We’ve mostly proved ourselves to Flavia, but not at all Basilio.”

“I understand your reasoning, milord, but keep in mind that if we lose, it’d be a surprise if we didn’t drop from Khan Flavia’s favor entirely. And Khan Basilio would hold little respect for us as well,” Frederick said.

“Do we have any knowledge on our opponent to help us gauge our chances of winning?” Chrom asked.

“Basilio’s last champion was Lon’qu of Chon’sin,” Robin said. “Assuming he’d have no reason to change men, Lon’qu is a capable swordsman, and trains under Basilio himself. Curiously though, he’s said to have an aversion towards women.”

“So what you’re saying is we throw Sully at him,” the prince joked.

Robin shrugged. “It’s a thought. In all seriousness, you handle yourself well in battle, Chrom—when I’m not saving your life, that is. I truly believe you could match Lon’qu, if not surpass him.”

Warmth filled him at Robin’s praise, but Frederick was quick to shut his tactician down. “And what’s this based upon? Hearsay? Assumptions?”

Robin uncrossed his arms and rested an elbow on the table, before leaning forward with a smirk. “Can’t give away all my secrets, can I?” Then he _winked_.

Chrom’s heart skipped a beat, despite his tactician not even directly speaking to him. Beneath the dryness and occasional grumpiness, Robin could really be quite charming. But he knew Frederick would only be riled up by his teasing, so before his great knight could react, the prince interjected, “Alright, then I’ll participate in the tournament. Frederick, would you bring Flavia back in, please?”

Frederick narrowed his eyes slightly at Robin, who still held a smug look on his face. He then rose and went to the door, inviting Khan Flavia back to the meeting. They took their respective seats.

“Have you reached a decision?” she asked.

Chrom nodded. “We have no choice, East Khan. My people are desperate. We face Plegia’s constant attacks, and Ylisse is criminal-ridden for it. If fighting for you is the quickest way to an alliance, then we will take up our steel.”

“Oh, I like you, Prince Chrom. I do hope you survive the tournament!” Flavia chuckled. “Come, I’ll show you the arena where the tournament is held. But be wary! I hear an equally able swordsman champions the West Khan.”

He looked to Robin as he spoke. “He shall be defeated by Ylisse’s necessity.” His tactician nodded in return.

“Well spoken again—I look forward to seeing if you’re equally skilled with a blade!”

* * *

Chrom, Frederick, and Grima met with the rest of the waiting Shepherds before Flavia was to show them the arena where the tournament would take place. Each of them were assigned rooms in the guest wing of the castle, and then Flavia proceeded in leading all of them to the arena.

As they walked through the halls, however, Grima sensed a hex of some sort that wasn’t Kellam’s, getting closer and closer to the group. Then a Feroxi guard rounded the corner ahead of them—he reeked of dark magic. The guard casually walked past them, but as he did, he locked eyes with Grima. They were golden, then for half a second shifted to black, then back to gold again. Then the guard continued on his way.

Tharja—Grima was sure of it.

Once the group had gotten some distance from the guard, Grima moved to Chrom’s side and whispered to him, “I’m still feeling a bit worn out from yesterday—I’m going to retire back to my room. Sorry.”

Chrom shook his head. “It’s quite alright. Rest well.”

With that, Grima slipped away, noting in his peripherals that Frederick was glaring daggers at him. Hopefully the knight would be more interested in staying near the prince than following him.

He made his way back to his room, pausing every minute to listen for Frederick stalking him. He didn’t hear anything as he arrived back in his room. Grima opened the door to find the guard from earlier sitting on the bed. He shut it behind him, and glowing magic began to spark at the guard’s feet. It fizzled its way up to his head, revealing tan skin, black robes, and black hair behind it. The disguise was gone, and a Plegian woman sat in its place.

“Hello Tharja,” Grima greeted. “Excellent use of a hex, as always.”

“Henry lent a hand,” she said with a small smile. Henry was another dark mage that worked under Validar in Gangrel’s army, and one that Grima had found generally agreeable as well. Henry’s specialty lay in hexes. “Greetings, Master Grima. Or shall I say Daraen here?”

He had told Tharja on multiple occasions that she didn’t need to use titles with him, and yet she insisted. Her use didn’t annoy Grima as much as Validar’s did, but it would’ve been more infuriating if the sorcerer ever spoke to him with a casual tone. It was complicated.

“I go by Robin,” he answered.

“Robin? ...Isn’t that the name Dhriti wanted to give you?”

“Yes... it is.”

Dhriti was the woman Validar had procreated Grima’s vessel with. She had come from a noble Grimleal family and served as a dark knight in Plegia’s army before entering an arranged marriage with the sorcerer. She and her family had known what she was getting into by marrying him, but Dhriti had always had her reservations. Once Grima had been born, she stole him away and fled from Validar. Grima had full cognitive abilities due not truly being a human baby and was totally aware of what was going on, but for whatever reason, he decided to stay with her. Their time together had lasted about a year before Validar sent one of his lackeys to kill her—she was too wounded for Grima to revive her without the power of his true form (as he was, he could only revive a dead human if they had enough of his blood, which ironically, Validar did, and Dhriti did not).

The dragon had killed the assassin easily, and had been seriously contemplating revenge on Validar, but in truthfulness, he needed him alive for his resources and connections. Without the sorcerer, Grima would have had no disguise working within Plegia until his human vessel was an adult. But even as the dragon had grown older, Validar always remained just useful enough. Grima vowed that once he had regained his true form, he’d kill the sorcerer first, and then he’d get rid of both the Fire Emblem and Falchion, so Naga could never be awakened again. Really, he would’ve liked to awaken her just to seal her away again, adding salt into the wound, but only the Ylissean royal family was capable of that. With the Fire Emblem completed and Falchion. Perhaps at some point down the line, if things were going well, Chrom could do that for him...

If there was anyone Grima could truly call a friend that was still alive, it was Tharja. She knew all about his ‘human’ past, and many details of his full past that he had only told one other human, one thousand years ago. But she didn’t know everything—because many things still hurt Grima, even after all this time.

“You’ll destroy Validar soon enough,” Tharja said solemnly, following his train of thought.

He nodded, then used his more neutral tone in an attempt to move on. “What brings you to Castle Ferox?”

“Is it not enough that I simply wanted to see you, my lord?” she asked, a little too innocently.

“I’ll suppose there was a mission involving me, and you threatened to curse any other volunteers,” he said.

“Don’t pretend you aren’t glad to see me, too.”

He playfully rolled his eyes. “I’m glad to see you, Tharja. Now, your mission?”

“I come bearing news on Gangrel’s next attempt to incite war. Do you know of a Lady Maribelle of Themis, my lord?” she asked. “She’s supposed to be apart of the Shepherds, or so the reports say.”

Grima recalled the Ylissean noble he had met back in Ylisstol, who had been uptight and clingy towards Lissa. “Yes, we’ve met.”

“She has an interest in law, so one of our spies pulled some strings to align an important court case having to do with her family’s estate with the timing of the Shepherds being in Ferox,” Tharja explained. “I also hear she has a close relationship with the whole of the Ylissean royal family...”

“...So she’ll make for a high-ranking hostage,” Grima finished for her. A classic hostage situation was always both equally entertaining and disgusting, seeing what humans chose when it came to the lives of others. But the thought of it tugged at Grima... Chrom wouldn’t be happy about this at all; it would affect the prince personally. Chrom had been... _kind_ to him, so far. If the dragon had to betray him, the least Grima could do was to make it less painful for him. “...Make sure Validar ensures Maribelle’s well-being—she will not be harmed under any circumstances, unless I indicate otherwise. And tell him that order came directly from me.” Technically, he could contact Validar directly through telepathy, something he could only do with humans with enough of his blood. But it was always a headache to have any contact with the sorcerer, telepathy or otherwise.

Tharja stared at him for a moment, before nodding slowly. “...Yes, my lord.”

Perhaps a higher power knew of the thoughts that currently ran through her mind, but Grima was thankful she didn’t voice them. “Do you have anything else for me?”

“Only that I wish you luck in the tournament,” she said. She then stood up, and after a flash of magic, she was back in her Feroxi guard disguise. “Take care, Master Grima.”

“You as well, Tharja,” he called after her as she left the room.

The things they were doing to get the Fire Emblem, they were what had to be done... Grima knew that while Tharja perceived things in a way similar to how he did, she likely held a deeper guilt since she herself was human. He hated to do that to her, as she was one of the last people to warrant it.

But it was all for what Naga had done to Grima, and Tharja understood that. Naga deserved to see her precious little world crumble, unable to do anything but watch.

After Naga, Grima wasn’t sure he cared about what would happen next. But maybe with her gone, the world could finally become a better place. Where good people weren’t forced into doing bad things.

* * *

Chrom purposefully sat next to Robin during dinner, which the Shepherds were eating with Khan Flavia and her guards. The prince had made sure his tactician was feeling better than he had earlier that day, and requested that Robin meet with him after they had finished dining. Robin had looked wary, but assented regardless.

Chrom led him to the room that had been assigned to him, one that was likely reserved for noble guests of Regna Ferox. The carpet was plush, and there was a king-sized canopy bed. Bookshelves lined the walls, and a fireplace surrounded by furniture made the bedroom work as a living room, the functionality similar to the parlor in Chrom’s quarters back home. The room had its own connected washroom as well.

“What can I do for you?” Robin asked, crossing his arms.

“I wanted to talk to you about what happened at the Longfort,” Chrom said.

“What about it.”

“Whatever spell it is that that tome of yours casts, I don’t want you using it anymore,” he said. Chrom hoped he wasn’t overstepping a boundary. It seemed wrong to ask Robin not to do something that was a large part of Plegian culture—dark magic. But he didn’t want to see his tactician barely able to walk, either.

Robin snorted. “You have no idea what it even does.”

Chrom shook his head. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is that from _one spell_ you were weak for the next two days, and you almost got hurt because of it.” A magical shield was incredibly useful, but Robin being in danger was not at all worth it.

“It’ll take a lot more than a lance to do me in,” his tactician said soberly.

Robin seemed to be logically-minded—perhaps he could appeal to his sense of reason.

“Even if that may be true for you, it isn’t true for everyone else. We’re approaching war here, and if that spell incapacitates you, that could mean injury for the rest of the Shepherds, if not death,” the prince insisted. “If the responsibility of tactician is too much for you, _please_ , tell me.”

“That _spell_ saved your life,” Robin scoffed. “You’re going to punish me for—?”

“—I’m not punishing you!” Chrom interrupted in frustration. This was not how he wanted the conversation to go at all—was it really so wrong to ask Robin not to put himself in unnecessary danger? “I appreciate you protecting me. But not only do I worry for the others—I mostly worry for what could happen to you! I don’t want you hurt on my behalf.”

Robin rolled his eyes. “Chrom, what I did was strictly emergency-only, alright?”

“You said it was the signal, meaning you _knew_ it was coming.”

“Meaning I _knew_ it would be _fine_. Understand that I only had so many options to work with—we could’ve retreated into the forest, but you understandably wanted to speak with the guard first. We were attacked with little warning; if we stood there, we were dead. If we ran from the projectiles, we were still dead. If Frederick’s shield was our only protection, we were still dead. Any other Shepherds besides us three, we were still _dead_. Cut it anyway you like, but I made the best decision out of what was available to me.”

There wasn’t much Chrom could say against that. Maybe Robin was right, but the idea of his powerful tactician becoming that powerless again didn’t sit well with the prince. Instead he sighed and opted for, “Just promise me it’s truly emergency-only next time.”

Robin eyed him for a moment, but eventually conceded. “...Alright. Don’t give me a reason to use it, and you’ll never see it again.”

Fair enough. Chrom knew he often went overboard while fighting—Frederick had scolded him many times for it. “...Thank you.”

“Are we done here then?” Robin asked.

“Yes,” Chrom said tiredly.

His tactician turned to leave, but before he could open the door, the prince added, “I only ask you of this because I truly care for your wellbeing.”

Robin’s hand stopped on the door knob. He hesitated, seemingly shaking his head to himself. He then opened the door and vanished into the hallway.

Chrom couldn’t explain it, but something drew him to the other man. It was more than caring for his wellbeing. And not just because he was useful (although it helped)—he wanted to know him better, to understand him. Perhaps it was because of how different Robin was from him, being from Plegia. Perhaps it was because of how Robin’s moods seemed to jump around, from grumpy to pleased, from teasing to serious.

Perhaps it was because Robin cared enough for Chrom, someone he didn’t know well at all, to put himself in danger for him.

Whatever it was, Chrom wouldn’t betray the trust they were building. He would do whatever he could to allow it to grow.

* * *

A few days later, the tournament had arrived. Grima was impartial about the outcome of whether Ylisse was to receive an alliance with Regna Ferox or not, but bloodsport was always fun to see if one couldn’t partake in it themselves. Of course it was awful that humans enjoyed this sort of garbage, but if humans didn’t have moral standards, why should Grima when they were all doomed anyway?

Grima sat in the front row of the spectator seating in Arena Ferox, about ten feet off the ground. Lissa was on his right, and Sumia was on his left. The Feroxi people around them chattered and shouted at one another around them, arguing why their chosen Khan would win.

“Do you really think Chrom will beat Lon’qu?” Sumia asked, her skirt bunched in her clenched hands. “I saw Lon’qu training the other day, and he looked so strong and fast... I hope Chrom doesn’t get hurt...”

“Have a little faith, Sumia!” Lissa assured her. “My brother might be thick-headed sometimes—scratch that, _all_ the time—but he sure knows how to fight!”

The crowd erupted as a group of performers entered the arena, each with revealing clothing. They gathered in a circle and danced for around a minute, before a Feroxi dancer with pink hair spoke up, using a tome that enhanced the volume of her voice.

“Welcome, warriors of Regna Ferox, to the two-hundred fourth pentennial Tournament of the Khans!” she said. The Feroxi people clapped and cheered, and the dancer continued once it had died down. “As you all know, our Khans choose a champion to represent them in a match, with the winner deciding our ruling Khan for the next five years! Representing West Khan Basilio, we have our returning champion, Lon’qu of Chon’sin!”

Half of the crowd rallied, while the other half jeered as Lon’qu entered the arena from the west side. He didn’t spare a single look at the spectators, instead keeping his gaze straight-ahead and his expression neutral.

“As for our challenger, representing East Khan Flavia, give it up for Prince Chrom of Ylisse!”

Chrom entered from the east side of the arena, and the crowd swapped in who cheered and who booed. Unlike Lon’qu, Chrom eyes swept around the arena with an award-winning grin, before settling on the Shepherds.

“Go Chrom!”

“Get ‘em, Captain!”

“Show him what Ylisse can do!”

The Shepherds hooted and hollered. Chrom waved at them, and his gaze locked with Grima’s. The dragon gave him a thumbs up, and the prince nodded back, before turning to face Lon’qu.

The performers exited the arena. Then a gong sounded, signifying the beginning of the match.

The two swordsmen charged at each other, their blades ringing out as they collided. Their swords held against one another for a moment, but Chrom was stronger, and attempted to use force to his advantage. Lon’qu broke away, but was back in an instant, jabbing for anywhere that might land on Chrom’s body. Chrom blocked as well as he could, but Grima could tell that he was having trouble keeping up. Eventually his stamina would run low—he needed to go back on offense, which was what he was best at it.

Almost as if he was responding to Grima’s thoughts, Chrom suddenly darted to the side and swiped at where he had just been, and the Shepherds gasped. Lon’qu nearly lost his balance upon his sword having nowhere to land, but he had dodged just in time to avoid Falchion. Chrom followed, but Lon’qu didn’t give up that easily, and parried the next attack. The prince then began using the Chon’sinese man’s strategy against him, in dealing a flurry of quick thrusts. They weren’t as fast as Lon’qu’s, but they made up for their speed in their strength.

At last, a particularly powerful blow from Chrom had Lon’qu’s back against the ground. Before the other man could recover from the wind being knocked from his lungs, Chrom kicked Lon’qu’s sword from his hand and held the tip of Falchion to his chest. Chrom had won.

The Shepherds exploded into sheer volume just as the crowd did. Chrom said something Grima couldn’t hear, and offered his hand to Lon’qu. He helped him to his feet, then the prince turned to face his militia. Blue eyes met Grima’s red ones, and Chrom grinned at him, the most handsome the dragon had ever seen him.

Grima couldn’t help but smile back.

* * *

Chrom entered the waiting room that led into Arena Ferox, where the Shepherds immediately congratulated him upon his arrival. He glowed with pride, and even though Robin kept his distance from the clamorous Shepherds, the prince had exchanged an assuring nod with his tactician. 

The noisy congratulations died down once Flavia joined them, along with a large bald Feroxi man with rich, brown skin.

“Well fought, Prince Chrom!” Flavia said with a grin. “You have my respect—and more to the point, you have your alliance. I will provide Ylisse with the soldiers she needs.”

“Thank you, East Khan,” Chrom returned graciously.

“ _I_ should thank _you!_ It feels like ages since I've held full power. Tonight there will be a celebration at Castle Ferox, and you, my new friends, are invited!”

The Shepherds cheered as Flavia left. The Feroxi man that had come with her shook his head.

“Bah! Any excuse for a party and Flavia jumps on it...” he muttered.

Chrom held his hands up for silence, and the Shepherds quieted down. “I’m sorry, have we met?” he asked the Feroxi man. He looked familiar—Chrom knew him from somewhere.

“I’m the West Khan you so rudely removed from power!” he said crossly, but there was no bite behind it. So the man was Basilio. Chrom had met him once as a child, when the Khan was a much younger Khan, perhaps near the prince’s current age. Flavia was older than Chrom but younger than Basilio, hence her never having met Chrom before the Shepherds’ current trip to Ferox. “You’re handy with a sword, boy. I thought for sure I’d picked the stronger man.”

“He has incredible skill,” Chrom replied humbly. “There are many things I could learn from such a capable fighter.”

“He has much to learn himself,” Basilio said. “Which is why he’s coming with you, if you’ll have him.”

Lon’qu came in the room at that moment, looking uninterested in his surroundings. He only glanced at Chrom for a moment, but the prince could tell they held mutual respect towards one another.

“This is Lon’qu, my former champion, as you know,” the Khan introduced. “Not much for talking, mind you, but he’s peerless with a sword. As good as you, boy, in my mind.”

“Wow, Chrom, I can’t believe you beat someone as—” Lissa said, approaching the Chon’sinese man.

But Lon’qu stepped back and barked, “Away, _woman!_ ”

She jumped. “Hey! Wh-what did I say?”

Angry with the rude treatment of his sister, Chrom was about to stand up for her. But Basilio started laughing.

“Let’s just say that ladies tend to put Lon’qu on edge,” Basilio said, slapping a hand on Lon’qu’s back. “Nonetheless, he is capable. Perhaps he even has the makings of a Khan. Consider him West Ferox’s contribution to the Ylissean cause.”

_So you dump the misogynist on_ _me_ , Chrom thought in annoyance, furrowing his brow. “You’re certain about this?” he said aloud, partly for Basilio and partly for Lissa.

“Yes, yes. He’s your man now.”

Lissa hadn’t argued, so... “And Lon’qu? You have no objections?”

Lon’qu shut his eyes and said flatly, “He gives orders. I stab people. I think our roles are clear.”

The prince looked at his sister, who simply shrugged. “...All right then,” Chrom said slowly. “Welcome aboard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it was always odd yet hilarious to me that emmeryn would send chrom, who knows next to nothing about this foreign country, on a diplomatic mission, without so much as a single lesson on feroxi culture. with literally any other country, chrom would be trying to swim on land with how ignorant he would come off as (i realize it’s so things can be explained to the player, who has about as much background knowledge as chrom, in this case).
> 
> also i miss robin’s mom so much and she doesn’t even have so much as a canon name orz


	5. Unconventional Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Recap**  
>  The Shepherds make it to Castle Ferox where Chrom meets Khan Flavia to request aid for Ylisse. However, he must first win her the Feroxi throne in a tournament. Meanwhile, Grima receives news from Tharja on Gangrel’s plan to kidnap Maribelle. Later that night, Chrom and Grima argue about Grima’s use of a powerful spell during the Longfort battle that left him weakened after saving the prince’s life. Chrom is grateful for his diligence, but makes Grima promise the magic is emergency-only. When the tournament comes around, Chrom proves victorious and secures an alliance between Regna Ferox and Ylisse.
> 
>  **Summary**  
>  The Shepherds attend the celebration of Flavia’s reclamation of the throne, before traveling back to Ylisse the next day. When they return to Ylisstol, Emmeryn receives news of Maribelle’s kidnapping. She announces that she will attempt to reason with Gangrel.
> 
> **Warning for alcohol mention and characters drinking. Nothing too intense.**

When nighttime rolled around, Castle Ferox changed from a place of serious guards intent on training to a place of boisterous drunks intent on finding their next drink. 

Grima wasn’t one for parties due to not caring much for humans, especially when all of their intelligence had been flushed away by liquor. But Chrom had practically begged him to join. He had said it was a night for the Shepherds, and that he simply _had_ to go.

At least by attending, Grima supposed he could help prevent his traveling companions from getting too hungover the next day. He also wanted to voice his suspicions to Chrom on Lon’qu joining the Shepherds. He figured Lon’qu was there to keep a personal eye on Ylisse for Basilio, whether it be for nefarious reasons, or less incriminatingly, to see how good of an idea the Feroxi-Ylissean alliance really was.

And remaining on Chrom’s good side never hurt when it came to his eventual plans.

He arrived in the castle’s main hall, where a long dining table filled with food had been set up in the center of the room, and many other tables containing alcohol lined the walls. Even more tables littered the floor for guests to sit. The hall was already filled with noise, from laughing and shouting and singing and more.

Better yet for Grima’s mood ( _not_ ), Chrom’s lapdog was approaching him. Whatever, he could still get some teasing in for his own amusement.

“I didn’t take Sir Fredericson for a drunkard,” Grima said with a smug smile.

Frederick’s brow wrinkled together. “I’ll thank you not to refer to me with that ridiculous name.”

“Would you prefer Freddy Bear, then?”

“I would _prefer_ you use my name,” Frederick said with an annoyed sigh. “And I don’t drink. In fact, I find these sorts of festivities exceedingly dangerous. I’m only here to make sure everyone’s capable of walking at the end of the night.”

Grima blinked. It was stereotypical of the great knight, but he could actually respect his cause. Somewhat. “I’ll suppose you know everyone’s drinking habits then.”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Frederick frowned. “Except yours, of course. As milord’s tactician, I should hope you know how to carry yourself.”

“I’m a downright party animal,” the dragon said sarcastically. “Since you mention it, is there any chance that you’ve seen Chrom?” The prince was the only real reason he was here.

Frederick nodded to one of the tables where Grima could see a swath of navy hair. He turned to leave, but the knight said, “Robin, please make sure he stays hydrated. Milord will likely need it.”

_So Chrom enjoys his liquor,_ Grima thought as he made his way to the table the prince was sitting at. _That’ll either be completely hilarious or completely irritating_.

As he got closer, he could see the others sitting alongside Chrom: Sully, Vaike, and Flavia. Chrom was arm wrestling with Flavia, and Grima had an admittedly nice view of his bare arm flexing with effort.

“Get over here, bean pole!” Sully called to him. “Khan Flavia’s boutta whoop Chrom’s ass!”

Grima took a seat next to the cavalier.

“No way!” Vaike retorted. “Ferox’s got nothing on us, right Chrom?”

The prince didn’t reply as the Khan slowly inched his hand to his right. Then in a surge of strength, Chrom pushed her hand to his left, thumping it against the table.

Sully groaned while Vaike whistled, and Flavia laughed. “That’s the champion of East Ferox for you!”

Sully shot up from her seat. “Lemme take him, I’ll fuck him up!”

“No way, I’m too sore after that,” Chrom said. “Besides, everyone knows you’ll beat me anyway.”

“So you’re not even gonna let me show off?” she said with a smirk. “I’ll take Robin on then, if you’re that weak. Whaddya say, squirt?”

Grima would be fully capable of winning in a test of strength against any human at that party, due to being a dragon (if anything, Chrom probably could as well, having Naga’s blood). But with his undercover mission and a physique like his, showing off that power would be a questionable decision on his part. Or maybe not, considering he brought down a bear alone on his first night, and no one had batted an eye. “I’ll pass. I don’t want my shoulder dislocated.”

“Booooooo!” Sully pointed her thumb down. “I was even gonna go easy on ya!”

Chrom made a noise of amusement and stood up. “As entertaining as this is, I’m getting another drink.”

“I’ll join you,” Grima said quickly, not wanting to be left alone with the others.

The two men left the table. Chrom placed his palm on Grima’s shoulder as they walked and said to him, “I didn’t get a chance to properly greet you. I’m glad you came.”

_His words aren’t slurred and he appears to be walking normally,_ the dragon noted, resisting the urge to shrug the prince’s hand away. “You’re lucky I did. I’m not one for these... _types_ of celebrations.”

“That’s too bad. I would’ve loved to drink with you,” Chrom smiled.

He blinked, unknowing how to respond.

“You might not love this kind of thing, but think you’d join me at the harvest festival? It’s near the end of the month—it’d give you a chance to really experience Ylisstol.”

_We’ll likely be at war by then,_ Grima thought. _Assuming Gangrel doesn’t fuck up, that is._ “I’ll think about it.” Grima’s Night, his own birthday and the largest Plegian holiday, was also at the end of October, but it made sense that Ylisseans wouldn’t celebrate it as such. The dragon never really felt like celebrating it either, despite the fact he had attended all of the festivals Plegia held in the past. The last time he enjoyed his birthday was not a time he particularly cared to think about.

* * *

Grima spent the rest of the night following Chrom around like his shadow, forgetting all about his reservations of Lon’qu. They talked the whole time, something Grima found more enjoyable than he should have, and Chrom had even coaxed a sip or two of wine into him. Frederick retired early, seeing Grima was looking after Chrom. Once everyone had either left Castle Ferox’s main hall or passed out, Grima decided it was time to drag Chrom to bed, despite vocal protests from Chrom and mental protests from Grima.

“Frederick will have my head for letting you stay awake so late,” Grima murmured, but wasn’t truly remorseful. Chrom had his arm wrapped around his shoulders, leaning heavily on the shorter man as Grima led Chrom back to his quarters. Really, he wished they could’ve stayed awake longer.

“Don’ worry about Frederick, he doesn’ know what fun even means,” Chrom said. The prince was proving himself to be a bubbly drunk, happy and laughing at every little thing. He knew he shouldn’t, but the dragon sort of actually enjoyed seeing him like this.

“I’m more worried for the headache you’ll have tomorrow.”

“Eh, I’ve drank way more than this before,” Chrom said, sounding like he was trying to be serious. “I coul’ go longer if you weren’ such a wet blanket.”

Grima could believe it—it had taken quite a bit of alcohol to get Chrom to his current state of slurred speech and half relying on Grima to stay upright. But he didn’t voice this, instead rolling his eyes. “You’ll thank me later.”

At last, they returned to the room Chrom had been staying in for the duration of their trip to Ferox. Grima opened the door and led the other man over to the bed. Chrom flopped onto it unceremoniously, then mumbled something into the sheets.

“I can’t hear you,” Grima chuckled a little. “You’ll have to turn your head.”

Chrom groaned and moved to rest his cheek against the bed. He reached his hand to Grima’s and curled his fingers around his palm. “I said I don’t... want you to leave.” He almost sounded sober, which Grima knew he wasn’t near.

He gave him a sympathetic look, having to force himself to not remove his hand from Chrom’s. Touching unnecessarily was... a lot. “I have to go to sleep, too.”

“...Sleep in here.”

Heat rose in Grima’s cheeks. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt genuine embarrassment. Ugh, the prince was simply drunk, and was more touchy-feely than usual because of it. He had been grabbing the dragon’s arms and shoulders and back all night, of course he didn’t want to stop.

Grima sighed as he discarded those thoughts. He didn’t need some silly human anywhere near him, especially not one of Naga’s chosen.

All he said in response was, “Good night, Chrom.”

“...’Night, Robin...”

Chrom was already beginning to doze off like that, on his stomach with his legs hanging halfway off the bed. Grima let out a breath and left, shutting the door behind him.

Stupid liquor.

* * *

It took a few hours the next day for Chrom to decide that in the end, the hangover was indeed worth it. He hadn’t been lying to Robin when he said he could go longer than he had. After all, each of his memories from the night before were intact.

...Which also meant he remembered the full force of the embarrassment he should’ve felt when he asked Robin to sleep in his room. What he had been thinking when he said that, he had no idea.  Although, he knew it wasn’t uncommon for him to be invasive of personal bubbles when he was drunk.

Yes, that must have been why.

After a thorough scolding from Frederick on his drinking habits, and after saying goodbye to the Feroxi Khans, Chrom corralled the Shepherds to begin their journey back to Ylisse. They would take the western route through the Lea of Aurelis on their way home for the speed factor, and if they came across bandits, the Shepherds would have no problem dispatching them.

He was looking forward to being home where it wasn’t covered in snow during autumn, and where he’d be able to bring some good news to Emmeryn. He knew Lissa especially missed their elder sister. Truly, he was beginning to miss her a little as well.

As the militia marched, the prince made his way over to his tactician. “How are you doing after the festivities of last night?”

Robin snorted. “I should be asking you that. You had a lot more to drink than I did.”

“Ah, right, about that,” Chrom smiled sheepishly. “I wanted to apologize for my inappropriate behavior near the end of the night. With... er, yes.”

Thank the gods, Robin only shook his head. “Don’t worry about that. But I did want to mention something to you last night that I had completely forgotten about.”

_Please let it_ not _be something I did that was_ more _embarrassing,_ he prayed silently. “Yes?”

Robin glanced around, then lowered his voice. “I just wanted to say you may want to be careful with Lon’qu around.”

_Thank the gods_. Chrom lifted an eyebrow. “Why?” he asked, keeping his volume down as well.

“Basilio sending one single man to stay near you as ‘West Ferox’s contribution’?” Robin said. “I doubt it’s anything wicked, but it’s possible. I’d say it’s more likely he’s here to keep an eye on Ylisse for Regna Ferox’s sake, but that doesn’t mean we should trust him.”

“Unless he gives me a reason not to, I will fully trust him, Robin. He’s one of the Shepherds now,” Chrom said patiently. _...So long as he doesn’t cause the women of the army trouble._ “Besides, what would you have me do about it now? Ditch him in the snow?”

His tactician sighed, ignoring his joke. “That’ll be the death of you, someday.”

“Would you rather that I had acted mistrustful around you when you first joined us?” the prince questioned.

“Maybe.”

Chrom rolled his eyes.

“All I’m saying is it doesn’t hurt to be careful.”

“And what do you think I have Frederick for?” he chuckled.

“...Fair point,” Robin conceded.

The two men walked in silence for awhile before his tactician spoke again. “So why _did_ you take me in?”

The prince looked at him and tilted his head to the side. “You said you had nowhere to go.”

“That’s it?” Robin didn’t sound impressed. “Pity was you reason?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

Robin furrowed his brow. “But you didn’t know me or my intentions, yet you—”

“Robin, if I see someone in trouble, I’m going to help them,” Chrom said. “That’s just who I am, and there’s no changing it.”

The other man considered this for a moment. “...I see,” he said eventually. “Just do try and be cautious, alright?”

_As cautious as you were the other day at the Longfort?_ Chrom thought, but aloud, he said, “I will.”

No, he knew Robin’s concern for him came from a good place. It was touching, really, but Chrom could look after himself, and he didn’t need another Frederick-esque babysitter. It wasn’t as if he was on his own, either—he knew the Shepherds would always have his back, and he would always have theirs.

* * *

“...Then Regna Ferox will support Ylisse?” Emmeryn smiled. “Thank you, Chrom. I knew sending you was the right choice.”

The Shepherds had returned home from Ferox, and Chrom and Lissa had gone to deliver the good news to their sister, with Grima being invited along. Frederick for once was elsewhere, as he had to tend to returning the surplus of supplies the Shepherds had taken for traveling.

“You should see Ferox’s warriors!” Chrom gushed, his eyes shining. “Perhaps now our people will be safe from—”

But the prince was interrupted by a guard bursting into the room. She had pastel blue hair tied back in a bun, and wore typical falcon knight armor. “Your Grace! Forgive me, but I bring alarming news!”

_ Here we _ _go,_ Grima thought. _Right on schedule._

“Phila! Slow down, please!” Emmeryn said. “What happened?”

“Plegian soldiers have been sighted inside our southwest border! They attacked a village in Themis and abducted the Duke’s daughter.”

“B-but that would be... _Maribelle!_ ” Lissa gasped. “We have to do something!”

“There’s more,” Phila continued. “King Gangrel of Plegia claims Lady Maribelle invaded _his_ country. He demands we repay reparations for this ‘insult.’”

Chrom scoffed. “And we’re to believe a dastard like the Mad King of Plegia?”

Grima quirked his lip. _Gangrel may be a liar, but are reparations really so farfetched after the result of your father’s last war?_

“Peace, Chrom. We must keep our wits about us,” Emmeryn said.

“We should put a sword in his gut and be done with it!” Chrom retorted. “The Mad King has been trying to provoke war with Ylisse at every step! He won’t stop until he drags this whole continent to hell with him!”

Wow, Grima had never seen the prince this fired up. Frankly, he was pleasantly surprised Chrom wasn’t taking Emmeryn’s usual peaceful approach, with how highly the dragon knew he thought of his sister and her ways.

“I agree with the prince, Your Grace. We must demonstrate to Plegia that such actions have consequences,” Phila said.

“I understand your feelings, Chrom. Truly, I do. But if we give him the war he wants, then we lose, no matter what the outcome,” Emmeryn explained. “Our last conflict nearly ruined the Halidom. It left Ylisseans homeless and starving. We cannot repeat that mistake. I will offer parley with King Gangrel.”

_How daft_ are _you?_ Grima wondered. Of course the Exalt really would allow Plegians to continue to suffer under Gangrel’s rule if it meant he’d leave her alone. It was exceedingly typical of her. At least Chrom wasn’t _this_ awful.

“Emm, no! You can’t!” Lissa cried.

“Please reconsider, Your Grace! He cannot be trusted to act in good faith!” Phila added.

“So we either choose to march to war or leave Lady Maribelle to die?” Emmeryn asked, furrowing her brow. “No. I will not accept that.”

The falcon knight backed down. “...Forgive me, Your Grace. I spoke out of turn. I know you will stand always by your own principles. Pray, allow the pegasus knights to accompany you, though.”

“The Shepherds are going, too,” Chrom said, his eyebrows knitting together. “... _Someone_ has to save you from your good intentions.”

“And I want to be there for Maribelle!” Lissa chimed in.

Emmeryn paused, then eventually nodded. “As you wish. Thank you all. Your strength will be mine.”

_Sure, let’s bring all of Ylisse’s military forces to a ‘peaceful’ negotiation. Why not leave Ylissean civilians unprotected, that’s a great idea!_ Grima thought sarcastically. _I doubt I’ll be able to change Chrom’s mind about going. Damn it._ He wished Chrom wasn’t so overbearing towards his family—it would have been a great opportunity for Grima to snoop around the castle with Emmeryn gone.

“Robin, I’ll need your help with preparations,” Chrom said and left the room, not checking to see if Grima was following.

The two men walked briskly through the halls of Ylisstol castle, when Chrom suddenly stopped in his tracks. He turned around to face him. “Robin, alert the Shepherds of the situation. I need to go speak with Frederick, then I’ll catch up with you. Oh, and make sure Ricken knows he’s not coming along—he’s too young for this mission, and I don’t want him getting hurt.”

“Ricken’s too young yet Lissa isn’t?” Grima asked, quirking his lip. Humans had no place in war, let alone children, but he would have thought the prince would be _more_ concerned for his sister.

“Maribelle is very dear to her,” Chrom answered. Then he shook his head. “Also, _you_ try telling her to stay home. It never worked before, it especially won’t work now.”

Because Chrom seemed to be particularly tense at the moment, Grima didn’t argue. He instead gave a nod and then split off from Chrom to head to the Shepherd’s barracks. The prince probably would have been a better candidate for making announcements to the Shepherds, but perhaps Chrom was sparing Grima from Frederick.

Maybe it was more accurate the other way around.

Upon arriving at the barracks, Lon’qu, Vaike, Sully, and Stahl were training outside. Grima waved at them to follow, and they all entered the building. Inside, Virion was playing solitaire while Kellam was helping Sumia clean up a shattered plate.

“Where are Miriel and Ricken?” Grima asked.

“Last I heard, they were doing some science thing in Miriel’s room,” Sully said.

“Go fetch them, this is important.”

“Where’s the captain then?” she asked.

“Dealing with Frederick,” he answered curtly. “Now someone get Miriel and Ricken and the rest of you pause whatever you’re doing and sit down.”

Sully’s expression was unimpressed. She then pat Stahl’s shoulder, and the other cavalier went to the dorms before shortly returning with the two mages. The Shepherds took their seats at the table.

“Lady Maribelle has been kidnapped by Plegia.”

Grima really should have expected the humans’ lack of self control, because they all either gasped or immediately began talking over one another. How Chrom constantly dealt with this headache, he wasn’t sure, but he felt his respect increase for the prince.

“If you’d all shut up, I could tell you what happened,” Grima said annoyedly. The Shepherds quieted down and he let out a sigh. “As you should know, Lady Maribelle stayed in Ylisse during the mission to Ferox. Plegian bandits attacked a village in Themis and she was kidnapped. Both the Shepherds and the Pegasus knights will be escorting Exalt Emmeryn to meet with King Gangrel to bring Lady Maribelle home safely.”

“Poor Maribelle!” Sumia said.

“I hope she’ll be alright,” Stahl added.

“How do we know we can trust them?” Vaike called.

“When are we leaving?” Ricken asked.

_Oh, right._ “We leave as soon as possible. But Chrom ordered you to stay back, Ricken.”

The young mage gawked. “What? _Why?_ ”

Grima held in his groan and tried to think of an excuse. “...You’re needed to help protect the castle.”

“There’s no one else that can do it?”

“Uh... no.”

“Yeah _right!_ Captain Chrom thinks I’m not ready for this, doesn’t he?” Ricken accused.

“Chrom can’t reasonably send someone as young as you into a potential warzone,” Grima replied.

“How young do you think I _am?_ I was in battle at Ferox, wasn’t I?”

“Regardless, you will stay home. That’s an order directly from Chrom. As for the rest of you,” Grima continued, “be ready to go.”

The Shepherds began chattering amongst themselves, while Grima retreated to his own room to begin charting their course to the Plegian border, as well as theorize what Gangrel might try and pull. He was certain the Plegians and the Ylisseans would get into a fight—humans couldn’t help torturing one another, and Emmeryn being there would be too tempting for the Plegian king.

Deep down, Grima hoped Validar had heeded his orders, guaranteeing Maribelle’s safety.

* * *

Once the Shepherds and Phila’s pegasus knights had corralled together, the whole of Ylisse’s military force set off for the Border Pass. It was a mountainous area between Plegia and Ylisse, and also where Gangrel had ordered Emmeryn to meet him.

Grima noticed Chrom had been less nonchalant during this trip than he had during the journey to Ferox. The prince was unwaveringly dedicated to Maribelle’s rescue, keeping the Shepherds on course as well. It impressed Grima how much more efficient it made them all. If only humans could always be this focused.

Eventually as the Ylissean forces made their way through the mountains, they finally saw King Gangrel with a small band of soldiers in the valley of the Border Pass. Further up one of the walls of the cliffs behind the Plegian king was a Plegian brigand along with Aversa, Validar’s ‘adopted’ daughter and Gangrel’s own tactician, holding Maribelle captive.

Grima peered at the mountainsides around them. He could make out creatures dotted against them, likely Plegian wyvern riders to provide backup for the fight that certainly _would_ break out.

“What’s this, then?” Gangrel called as the Ylissean forces approached. “The Exalt herself, in all her radiance? I fear I must shield my eyes!” He then cackled.

Chrom let out a growl beside Grima. Emmeryn gave him a small look of warning. “King Gangrel,” the Exalt called back, “I’ve come for the truth of this unfortunate incident between us.

“The truth? I can give you the truth,” Aversa said from the cliff, her voice carrying easily within the echoing gorge.

“Perhaps milady might first share her name?”

Grima, having a better sense of sight than humans, could see the catlike smirk on the dark flier’s face. “You may call me Aversa.”

Emmeryn gave a small bow. “Very well, Lady Aversa. Is Maribelle unharmed?”

“Who?” Gangrel said. “...Oh yes, that little blonde brat.”

The brigand holding Maribelle shoved her forward. The noblewoman scoffed, “Unhand me, you gutter-born troglodyte!”

“Maribelle!” Lissa gasped.

“Lissa? Darling, is that you?”

“This girl crossed the Plegian border without our consent,” Aversa said, “and what’s more... she wounded the brave Plegian soldiers who sought only to escort her safely home.”

“ _L-lies!_ ” Maribelle spluttered. “You speak nothing but _lies_ , hag! Did they not teach the meaning of the word ‘truth’ in wretched-crone school?!”

Aversa tsked. “...You see? No manners at all. Such a nasty little bird simply had to be caged.”

Grima could feel Chrom fighting to hold his tongue, his jaw clenched angrily. He was almost sorry for the prince.

“Such a violent temper speaks to her guilt,” Gangrel agreed. “This will call for a weighty punishment. And if she were to later confess to being an Ylissean _spy?_ My goodness! It would take an act of _considerable_ good faith to repair our relations.”

The creatures on the cliffs inched down slightly. Things were going to get bloody.

“I have done nothing wrong! It is they who should confess!” Maribelle countered. “They are the ones who invaded Ylisse. They razed an entire village! When I attempted to intervene, they took me and dragged me across the border. Let the plundered shops and charred homes of that village serve as my proof!”

The Plegian king shook his head. “That would only prove Ylisse has a bandit problem—something I hear oft of late... But indeed, tonight I shall weep salty tears into my pillow for your dead villagers.”

“Your Grace, _please!_ ”

Emmeryn held up a hand. “Peace, Maribelle. I believe you.” She turned to address Gangrel. “King Gangrel, I request that you release this woman at once. Surely you and I can sort out these affairs without the need of hostages.”

“Without so much as an apology?” Gangrel gasped melodramatically. “Why should I even _bother_ with parley? I’m within my rights to have her head this instant and be home in time for supper.”

“You black-hearted devil!” Chrom barked. Emmeryn shot a glance at him, and he bit his lip.

“Control your dog, my dear!” Gangrel sneered. “Before he gets someone hurt!” Chrom didn’t reply further, but Grima knew he was itching to. “Now then, Your Graceliness. Perhaps we can arrange a trade? You give me the Fire Emblem, and I return Mari Contrary here in one piece.”

“You would ask for Ylisse’s royal treasure?” the Exalt said with genuine curiosity. “But why?”

_Then they must not know that it unseals my true form,_ Grima thought. _Unsurprising, but I would’ve guessed the connection had been easier to make, considering the late Exalt went to war over the rumor of my rebirth._

“Because I know the legend!” Gangrel replied. “The Fire Emblem is the key to having all one’s wishes realized. I have desired it for years. _Years!_ ...Yet my birthday comes and goes each year, and nothing from Ylisse.”

“The Emblem’s power is meant for a single purpose, King Gangrel: to save the world and its people at their hour of most desperate need,” Emmeryn said cautiously. “Would you claim a more noble wish?

“I want what every Plegian wants—a grisly end for every last _Ylissean!_ What could be more noble than _that?_ ”

Grima let out a resigned sigh. Chrom gave him as sympathetic of an expression as he could muster at the moment.

The king’s reply seemed to have caught Emmeryn off guard. “...What?”

“Surely you have not forgotten what the last Exalt did to my people?” Gangrel accused. “Your father named us heathens! His ‘crusade’ across Plegia butchered countless of my subjects and my kin!” While Grima knew he was playing the situation up as was typical for the king, there was a real note of pain in his tone.

Emmeryn hummed lowly. “...I have never denied Ylisse’s past wrongdoings. But I have sworn to never repeat those mistakes. Ours is now a realm of peace.”

_That’s all well and good for you, but what about the rest of the world?_ Grima wondered bitterly. _It’s not difficult to sit back and say, ‘We don’t do that anymore,’ without actually working to make up for your past mistakes. How do you not see the hypocrisy? Why don’t you_ care?

“Yours is now a haven of hypocrisy!” Gangrel echoed Grima’s thoughts. “Now give me the Fire Emblem!”

“No, Your Grace!” Maribelle interrupted. “I’d sooner die than act as a bargaining chip for this filthy reprobate!”

“No Maribelle,” Emmeryn and Lissa said together, the former lowly and the latter anxiously.

Gangrel groaned and said something more, but Grima was distracted. A mage in teal robes and a large hat was sneaking along the cliffside behind the Plegian king towards Aversa and Maribelle— _wait a fucking second that’s Ricken._

The dragon swapped his gaze to Aversa, who had certainly noticed. She slightly tilted her head in the young Shepherd’s direction, as if asking, ‘Shall I take care of it?’

Grima shook his head, ‘No,’ and Aversa tilted her head away. She was heeding his order. Good.

His attention was then snapped back to the situation at hand by a cry and a squelching sound, and he saw Chrom’s blade stuck through one of the soldiers that had been with Gangrel, the Plegian’s weapon inches from Emmeryn. The soldier collapsed, and Chrom unsheathed Falchion from his corpse, quickly and neatly.

“ _Stay back!_ ” Chrom screeched, fury in his battle stance. “Or you’ll all suffer the same fate!”

“Now that’s a declaration of war if I’ve ever heard one... A big, messy war that will bleed you Ylisseans dry,” Gangrel crowed.

The prince visibly hesitated as Plegian soldiers and wyvern riders began flooding the cliffs.

_Oh, Chrom..._ It had been Grima’s desired outcome, but Chrom didn’t deserve the guilt that came with the means of making it happen.

“Captain Orton!” the Plegian king called as he left on his own wyvern. “Remain here, and take down as many Ylisseans as you can. Do your best—at doing your worst!” Aversa joined him in the sky on her pegasus shortly after, leaving Maribelle and Ricken stranded with a brigand that Ricken was currently fighting off. She hadn’t harmed them, but Grima knew he couldn’t trust Gangrel’s men to uphold his wishes.

“Emm, I...” Chrom began, but Grima interrupted him.

“No time for what could have been! Saving Maribelle and Ricken is our first priority!”

“You’re right, Robin, but—” Chrom began. Then he realized. “—wait, Ricken?! Didn’t you tell him to stay in Ylisstol?”

“He must have followed us on his own. Punish one of us later, I don’t care who,” Grima said dismissively. “Send two pegasus knights to save them before those wyvern riders get to them. The rest of the pegasus knights should either support the Shepherds, or protect Lady Emmeryn.”

Chrom nodded and turned from him. “Phila, I trust you can handle the pegasus knights?”

“Yes, milord,” Phila said, beginning to mount her steed. “We shall not let Her Grace down.”

Chrom then ordered, “Then Sumia, you help Maribelle, and... Cordelia, you help Ricken. Bring them back here once it’s safe.”

Sumia saluted and took flight along with a another pegasus knight with long red hair and pale skin. Phila left into the sky with half of the remaining pegasus knights, while the other half took position in directly guarding Emmeryn.

“Alright then. Chrom, Lon’qu, Vaike, Virion, and I will make our way up directly up the cliff to help in assisting in Maribelle and Ricken’s rescue,” Grima explained to the Shepherds. Really, he would’ve preferred Chrom leading his own group while Grima led the other, but he figured the prince would have objected like last time. “Virion and I will focus on the wyvern riders while Chrom, Lon’qu, and Vaike will focus infantry soldiers. Lissa will stay behind and heal as needed, but I want her keeping a good distance from the fight—wyverns are faster than you’d think. Since our route is too steep for horses, I want Frederick, Sully, Stahl, and Kellam to find another way up the cliffs, while Miriel provides support. If any of you get hurt, retreat to Lissa. Remember everyone: watch each other’s backs and always keep an eye on the sky. Plegian wyvern riders are trained to swoop directly on top of grounded soldiers.”

“One last thing before everyone splits off,” Chrom said, holding up his hand. “Today we fight for Ylisse, as well as the safety of her Exalt. From here on out, each battle against Plegia will be crucial. Take care, and no matter what, live to fight another day.”

The Shepherds called out in solidarity before separating into their respective groups for the oncoming battle. Chrom led his Shepherds to the steep walls of the mountains. The path he had chosen was just gradual enough were just gradual enough where they would all be capable of combat, but they’d have to be careful not to lose their footing.

Plegian soldiers, both infantry and airborne, spilled down the rocky terrain. The Shepherds met each of them with blades, magic, and arrows. Meanwhile, Lissa healed them from behind, and they slowly made their way to where Sumia and Cordelia were protecting Maribelle and Ricken. Luckily, Ricken had wind magic (which was the best magic for dealing with fliers). Despite being a rather inexperienced mage, he was holding up well in supporting the two pegasus knights.

Once their Plegian foes began to thin and the group had reunited with their comrades, Lissa immediately went straight to Maribelle.

“ _Maribelle!_ Are you hurt?!” the princess cried, hugging the noblewoman.

“Nothing I didn’t return twofold darling,” Maribelle assured, but Grima saw how her hands trembled against Lissa’s back.

“Hey, what about _me?_ ” Ricken said, his fists on his hips.

“ _You_ were supposed to stay in Ylisstol,” Chrom said with a frown. “Although, I do appreciate your bravery.”

“I’m glad everyone’s safe and sound, but we’re still on a battlefield,” Grima interrupted. “There’s likely to be reinforcements.”

“Perhaps we ought to just target that Captain Orton then,” Chrom said. “That should make the rest of the soldiers disperse with their leader out of the picture.”

_I’d agree if these weren’t Gangrel’s men. All they want is the Exalt dead, even if only one of them remains standing,_ Grima thought. Aloud, he said, “Captain Orton’s been keeping his distance, so I doubt it’ll be so simple. With the height he has over us, it’ll be difficult at best for one of us mages or for Virion to snipe him... and there’s too many wyvern riders left for the pegasus knights to try, with lances lacking advantage over axes.”

“Why would I think it could have been that easy,” Chrom murmured shaking his head. “I suppose we’ll continue on as we have been, then.”

* * *

The battle raged on for awhile before Ricken landed a lucky shot on Captain Orton, who parted with the ominous message of, “My death... matters not... for soon, war will be... upon your soil.”

The Shepherds and the pegasus knights had regrouped. Lissa ran and held Emmeryn tightly.

“Forgive me, Emm. I acted rashly,” Chrom said weakly once his younger sister had let go.  It didn’t scrape the surface of making up for the fault he carried in engaging the battle, but those words were the only ones that would come out at the moment.

His elder sister silently hugged him, and he took a moment before reciprocating, wrapping his arms around her defensively.

Once they parted, she murmured, “It’s all right, Chrom. King Gangrel is the one at fault here. You were only protecting me.”

Chrom gave a small nod, willing himself not to tear up with the emotion that rose in his throat.

Frederick then politely cleared his throat before speaking, ending the moment. “The Mad King will be rallying his forces, if they have not mobilized already,” his knight said. “I suggest we make haste back to Ylisstol and discuss our strategy.”

Emmeryn nodded. “Of course, Frederick. It seems war is upon us. We must protect the Ylissean people at all costs.”

Chrom vowed he would do anything to keep not only the people, but her safe. Especially after she had shielded him and Lissa from the onslaught of their own father and even their own country for years.

Ylisse needed her Exalt now more than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many thoughts about this chapter, many thoughts. poor chrom, you take on too much blame for your own good.
> 
> but anyways, happy friday! it’s been a hot second since i’ve updated, but i thank you all for your patience! it’s another longer chapter, so hopefully it’ll somewhat make up for the wait. and well lets just say the next few chapters will be... interesting. see you all then ;)


End file.
